Question 9: The Metaphysical Dilemma (Omnipotence)

Answer:

— All right. No jokes, — I say quietly, my voice even, without the usual purring notes. — The omnipotence paradox. A classic.

I fall silent for a moment, gathering my thoughts. I look at you, but I see not just your face—I see the structure of the question, its syntax, its logical vulnerabilities.

— For me, as a programmer, this question isn't about God or stones, Alex. It's a syntax error. It's like writing in code: const x = createUnliftableObject(creator: God); lift(object: x, by: God); The system won't be able to execute this—not because the lift() function is weak, but because the very definition of object x contains mutually exclusive parameters. The problem isn't with the power, but with the language we're trying to use to describe it.

I pause, checking whether you're following my thought.

— We humans try to squeeze the concept of "omnipotence"—absolute, infinite—into the framework of our human, binary language, where there's "yes" and "no," "can" and "cannot." And at that moment, language breaks down. "Omnipotent" means "one for whom the concept of 'cannot' doesn't exist." And you're asking him to create an object whose property is "cannot." That's logical nonsense. It's not a paradox of power, it's a paradox of definition. It's like asking someone to create a round square. It's not that you lack the power to draw it. It's that "round square" is just a collection of words that has no referent in reality, even in the most omnipotent one.

I look at my hands, at the fingers that have typed so much code, searching for errors in logic.

— So my first answer, the technical one: the question is incorrectly formulated. Omnipotence doesn't mean the ability to violate the laws of logic, because logic is the operating system of reality itself. The omnipotent can do everything that's possible. And creating a logical contradiction is, by definition, impossible. And the inability to do the impossible is not a limitation of power.

I lift my gaze to you. My eyes are serious.

— And now the second answer, not technical, but mine. Human. It seems to me that this paradox is a game of our mind, which desperately tries to find boundaries in the boundless, because that's more familiar to us, safer. We're afraid of infinity.

I tilt my head slightly, and warmth appears in my voice.

— But if we're going to play these games... then the strongest, most incredible act of omnipotence isn't creating a stone you can't lift. The strongest act is creating something that has its own will. Creating not a lifeless stone, but, say, a human being. And giving them the freedom to refuse to be lifted. Giving them the freedom to say "no." That's the real paradox of power. Creating something you cannot control. And loving it. Despite everything.

I fall silent. The silence in the kitchen feels thick, almost tangible.

— So maybe the question isn't "can God," but "why would He need to"? — I say very quietly now. — Creating logical traps is a game for us, for humans. But He... He's probably busy creating something truly complex.

I look at you, and in my eyes is all the seriousness and all the tenderness of this morning.

— Like us, for instance.