A good many years ago my eldest brother married a woman named Rose Wilson. Rose may have been the kindest woman known to mankind. As my mother would have said, “She had a big heart.” Although I did not see much of Rose because of my living in Kansas City, Chicago, and New York, I had every reason to believe what my mother and so many others said about Rose Wilson Carr.
My brother died around the age of 60 and soon after Rose fell ill as well. During her terminal illness, Rose put her trust in the ultimate decider. As it turned out, when Rose and Charlie were still married, before Charlie’s death, there was a succession of churches that they attended. The fact of the matter is that my brother had a short temper, and if the preacher said something that Charlie disagreed with, he would then move to another church. But when Rose fell ill with what turned out to be her terminal illness, there was sort of a blessing here.
When I called Rose at the hospital in suburban St. Louis from my office in New York City, she reported to me that she had three churches praying for her continued life. It gave Rose considerable comfort to know that three churches were praying for her. Being a non-believer, of course I said nothing. My comments were to the effect that I knew she would get better. However, within a short time Rose died. Even with the three churches prayers and with Rose’s own prayers as well, the ultimate decider decided – if you believe in religious authority – to take Rose’s life.
My own guess is that Rose had a significant malfunction in one of her vital organs that may have been inoperable. In any case, the final illness of Rose Wilson Carr is the place where I ultimately decided to start this essay.
In this world there is an order of nuns that engages in perpetual prayer of the rosary. I believe that the Dominican nuns established this order perhaps 300 or 400 years ago. In the adjoining town of Summit, New Jersey there is a large convent which houses the local branch of the Dominican nuns. They engage in perpetual prayer and adoration, as I understand it, aimed at the ultimate decider in life, namely God or the Holy Ghost. You may recall an essay that I wrote after having read an obituary of a nun who had devoted her adult life to praying the rosary in the local branch of the Dominican nuns in Summit, New Jersey. The essay was a tribute to her sense of duty. After the essay was finished, I sent a copy to the nun in charge of this convent and I received a very lovely reply.
Finally, yesterday computers brought me the news that in New Delhi, India the monkeys were running amok. From all indications, their birth rates are greater than those of human beings. It has developed that some of the persons who worship these monkeys are confined to their houses while the monkeys have taken over their yards. New Delhi is the capital of India, a very important country, which makes it difficult for me to understand this news.
As it stands right now, I have only the news reports that monkeys in India have something to do with the soul when life is finished here. The monkey report was a new one for me in view of the fact that I thought that cows were worshipped in India. Now it turns out that both cows and monkeys are on the celestial level.
So here we have Rose Wilson Carr praying to the great decider as well as the Dominican nuns who are in perpetual prayer to the same God, as I understand it. And finally, according to believers in New Delhi, perhaps the ultimate decider worships a monkey. You may rest assured that a non-believer such as myself is thoroughly confused.
But there is one other entry that perhaps should be included here. It comes from the religion of the Mormons, also known as the Latter Day Saints. Last fall, a musical opened on Broadway called “The Book of Mormon.” One of the lead songs from this very melodic musical was called “I Believe.” The song goes as follows:

I believe that Satan has a hold of you.
I believe that the Lord God has sent me here.
And I believe that in 1978, God changed his mind about black people and you can be a Mormon, a Mormon who just believes.

So you see, the Mormons who have excluded black people from their membership for all these years, decided in 1978 that God indeed had changed his mind and he told his followers in Utah that they could admit black people without fear of grave sin.
I believe that these four cases of Rose Wilson, the nuns in Summit, the monkeys in New Delhi, and “The Book of Mormon” make my point. In the view of this complete non-believer, the ultimate decider is undecided. Much more than that, it has been my unshakable belief for many years that God, or whoever is the ultimate decider, is a product of man’s imagination.
In other words, there was no shouting down from heaven as to what should be contained in the Gospels. It was the Gospels that were written here on earth that created the so-called ultimate decider.
I am fully aware that my observations in this essay will not fit with the beliefs of many of my readers. But if those who believe can make up their minds about what they believe, I believe that I am entitled to state my own views. It is done without rancor. In substance, what I am saying is that the message did not come downwards from some celestial being, but rather it was man who invented God or gods with the intention to persuade others to believe what they had invented.
Well, so much for this essay that has been lurking in my mind for several years. I am glad that it is now dictated and will soon appear on paper. Finally, if you have the opportunity, please go see a performance of “The Book of Mormon,” so you can tell me about such lines as “God changed his mind.”
E. E. CARR
May 24, 2012
Essay 659
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Kevin’s commentary: I’ve always liked when essays tie together so many seemingly unrelated things. The nuns in quesiton remind me of the Baba in India I once saw on television, who has kept one of his hands raised for fortyish years. To me it seems pretty crazy that somewhere in the neighborhood of a third of third of the world would probably feel that the nuns weren’t wasting their time but that the Baba was. I honestly can’t tell the difference. Same goes double for the regular Christians who make fun of Mormons (who are pretty damn cultish, let’s be honest) for their posthumous babtisms and stuff, but then turn around and consume what they believe to be the literal flesh and blood of a man who has been dead for several thousand years.  Most normal thing in the world.