An article proposing a close, conjoint reading of three recently released comic books that address God.

This article comprises in three parts not counting with this introductory piece. I will address each of the books separately, but the reason they are bundled together in one breath is due to the fact that they can be united under the same roof, matter and or theme. In very different ways these comic books address the issue of God.

The Book of Genesis by Robert Crumb (Fantagraphics),
Dieu en personne by Marc-Antoine Mathieu (Delcourt) and
Caminhando com Samuel by Tommi Musturi (Huuda Hudda/5ème Couche/Optimal Press/Mmmnnnrrrg)

As one would expect from Mathieu, the whole premise is that of the Absurd, that is to say, the plot posits a situation that seems highly unlikely, fantastic even, but a situation that is lived by the characters within that fictional universe with a rather nonchalant attitude. Outstanding circumstances only happen to draw out the most banal situations, and reactions among the characters, therefore underlining the true mortal coils in which find ourselves inescapably.
“God in our midst” does trigger exceptional, even dazzling situations (the whole judicial process, which acts out as a narrational frame – for the successive analepses in fact –, the books, the theatre plays, the psychiatrist’s dream, the contribution of God to the discovery of scientific breakthroughs, such as Higg’s boson, and even his own album de bande dessinée), but it is all presented in the habitual deadpan charm that the French author has made us used to. He produces types upon types of people that would question God when given the opportunity, from philosophers to the priests, from the janitor with the most profound tirade in the book to the law firm that represents Him in court. Arguments, theses, notions, systems are presented, exchanged, scrutinised, and more often than not debunked by God’s own presence or His unexpected responses.
An ultra-intelligent computer is devised within this story, the ultimate machine that will render, perhaps human opinions obsolete, but when H-1 (that’s the computer’s name) begins its dialog with God, the most seemingly banal questions come up. But, and this is the point, perhaps its question – “who are you?” (and H-1 uses the more familiar “tu”) – is the one that should have been asked in the first place. And that question will allow God, through his own voice, in his own words, make known whatever answer he has. God himself knows this, and he acts upon it with that in his unfathomable mind: “Yes, it is a childish question. But every child is a little god”. This is not a sugar-coated verse to praise the innocent children or something like that, mind you. No, God wishes to show that one must be humble enough to try to see the world and perhaps, oneself, as others see the world. Perhaps that is God’s (this God, at least) strength: the ability to see things as they truly can be (not as they are, because there’s always an immeasurable fringe that prevents us from fully understanding something, be that a person, an object or a song) and therefore, see a bigger, integrated picture, and reach out behind our own self-limited perspective.
Mathieu is not engaging at any point with the Biblical texts per se, or directly, being more interested in tackling and criticizing the authoritarianism and inflexibility of organized religion (namely, the Catholic Church). If something like this happened, God on Earth, what would be the powers that would seek the best advantages? The capitalist, entertainment industries. And they do. Every single piece of merchandising you can think of is mass-produced and distributed. The peak of this is the God-themed-park with dozens of attractions, able to provide instant spiritual effects upon those who seek it. Enlightenment, truth, bliss is available, at the price of admission! Full-value guarantee. Sheer madness.
Mathieu is aware that religion, the word itself, means etymologically “to connect again”, which is curious because it points out how at some point that connection became lost. It entails under a certain perspective, that the relationship that might be possible between any person and God should be immediate, personal, and intimate. But in a time and a society when mediacy is the key-word, from technologies to services, it wouldn’t be solely God that would be out of reach. It would be the whole of society. We have lost sight of more immediate bonds. Lawyers, churches, counselors, psychologists, Oprahs, television, cell phones, social networks, the battery of commodities we are surrounded with, “creature comforts”, are all obstacles to this easily available knowledge. Mathieu’s God “came down” to reconnect it all, but he is put immediately inside a protective dome, not to protect him from his creatures or vice-versa: it is a representation of the whole mediation gloss that we have constructed for such a long time around the idea of God, and that feels like something “natural”.
God is never seen directly. In the beginning he is always seen from behind, a little off-centre, etc., and at one point he is behind hammered glass. It’s as if God was a few inches away, always just out of reach for some unsurpassable inability in us, explained by the continuous stupidity of the characters around him, trying to pigeon him within some category or pinning his deeper meaning down. All fail by inches.
In the end, God is gone. Mathieu devises a secondary plot in which we are left in doubt if all that happened was really true within its diegetic universe – God was, in fact, amidst us – or was it was all a ruse – a commercial stratagem to come up with new consumer toys. In a way, everyone loses. God loses, we lose. That is the strength of Mathieu’s allegory.
The last joke is the latest I-toy available on the market, the last trace of God’s passage on the realm of deprived humankind. It’s a short version of the H-1 that connects whoever uses it to a universal databank, making available all information possible, approaching people as much as possible to an omniscient state. The device’s name is “I-Dieu”, “I-God” (“I” does not stand as the English personal pronoun, but the usual Apple’s prefix). If you read fast, as one word, it sounds “idiot” (the sound is different, but the spelling and the meaning is the same in English). You can read the catch phrase: “Kit I-dieu, don’t die an idiot”. To know everything is one of our aspirations, as mortals. We ate from the Tree of Knowledge but not the Tree of Life. Perhaps the second would be the one that actually gave us powers to understand things. But if we did come to attain absolute knowledge, what would we do with it? There would be no more room to be human, to walk freely forward (as Musturi’s Samuel does). All that would be left would be a seraphic, idiotic smirk in our faces, a joke of what bliss should be.
Piece by piece, element by element, Dieu en personne (which I guess can be doubly read and rendered in English as “God in anyone” as well as “God in no one”) raises an allegorical look, through a possible relationship with the idea of God, or what we, in this world, already are.