Las Vegas, Ichthyosaurs, and the Indelible Absence of God
Hamlet had a point—there is something vulnerable and innocent about prayer.
Ryka Aoki
(Note: this one's a little late--my new novel Light From Uncommon Stars released yesterday. Fingers crossed!)
Hamlet had a point—there is something vulnerable and innocent about prayer. In prayer, there's no camouflage. To pray in earnest means to means being placing oneself in a state of unguarded trust. One cannot express one’s true feelings without, well, expressing one’s true feelings.
Besides, no matter how devout we are, or what religion we believe, there is always that chance that there's Nobody Listening on the other side, and we are wasting our time and looking foolish.
Logic dictates that because of this, we should cloister our most heartfelt prayers in solitude, far from others, behind closed doors—and some monastics and ascetics do exactly that.
However, it is also true that, from pyramids to temples to cathedrals, many of the grandest, most ostentatious constructions in human history have been places of prayer.
Which brings me to Las Vegas. The casinos of Las Vegas not only match the opulence of any temple or cathedral—they’ve added slot machines, Cirque du Soleil shows, and all-you-can-eat seafood buffets.
No, we are most definitely not adding a seafood buffet.*
At first, it might seem absurd to compare the Wynn Las Vegas with Notre-Dame de Paris—let alone think that one might find honest worship there. And yet, the angels will rarely hear prayers more hopeful and faithful that those voiced at the blackjack table or slot machine.
Because Las Vegas is actually bursting with prayer. Here are the countless prayers for fortune, the wishes for opportunity for family or personal success. And here are also the desperate, agonizing pleas for forgiveness after the latest of countless sins.
I know this is a model, but I'm with Hamlet. There are scenes that we just leave alone.*
What is sin? Despite its prevalence, sin can be even more difficult to define than prayer. One definition sticks out to me in particular: that “sin” is not a class of actions or thoughts, but simply the absence of God. And as a writer, I’ve always linked word to “sin” to the Latin “without.”
And many have called Las Vegas, “Sin City”—a godless place.
So, why would one pray in God’s absence?
If one drives northeast out of Las Vegas, into the heart of Nevada, one will encounter something far older than any casino, more ancient than any culture that a new casino might invoke.
One will encounter near perfect fossils of ichthyosaurs.
Wow...I could really use that seafood buffet...**
These fish-shaped reptiles swam the Mesozoic seas of the Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous periods. Though ichythosaurs were not dinosaurs—ask any well-informed fifth-grader—they were awe-inspiring just the same. One particular ichthyosaur, Shonisaurus popularis, grew to over the size of a school bus.
Populations of Shonisaurus popularis preyed upon Triassic squid, fish, and shellfish in the seas of what would become central Nevada—in fact, roughly 250,000,000 years later, Shonisaurus popularis has become Nevada’s official state fossil.
Wait...are you saying that I missed out on the seafood buffet???***
When you're looking at a fossil, you're not looking at the actual substance of whatever has died. After all millions of years, there is no meat left on the bones. In fact, there are no more bones left on the bones. When covered quickly, in the right soil, and protected from predators and scavengers, a creature’s decaying remains are gradually replaced with minerals, eventually casting a near-immortal image for our innocent, wondering eyes to see.
After over 250 million years, we see are afterimages—spaces that long-vanished creatures have left behind.
Yet in these fossils, one can see the eye sockets, every vertebra, the bones of the fins. In its absence, we can marvel at its beauty, its sleek and streamlined shape. Though not a trace of the original organism remains, after over 250 million years, Shonisaurus popularis is undeniably there.
Meanwhile, “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” And even through periods of decay, Las Vegas has done a particularly good of job guarding itself against predators and scavengers.
And so, in bright lights and plain sight, hidden by a catchy slogan and a congregation of everything you were warned about in Sunday school, Las Vegas might be the perfect place to find near-perfect afterimages of faith.
Here in Vegas, a lapsed churchgoer who has forgotten how to tithe has surrenders a percentage of his income with a quick, but heartfelt prayer. Here, in the anonymity of slot machines, gaming tables, and never-ending temptations, are people who fill their voids with the most naked beseechments and pleas.
And sometimes, those prayers are answered. And sometimes, those rewards are redeemed.
Jackpot!!!****
Faith. Guilt. Contemplation. Even thanks. Everything you need to know about what this nation thinks of God can be found preserved in Las Vegas. Godless or not, in Las Vegas, the impression of God exists, in rendered stunning, sublime detail.
Perhaps this explains why, whenever I visit Las Vegas, I get a little reverent. Like Hamlet, I know there’s sin right in front of me, but somehow I also see innocence, vulnerability. Even in Heaven’s absence—what fills the moral voids of this place, its permissiveness and ruin, is a startling image of something genuine, profound, and even Godly.
Even here, especially here, amongst the layers of sin and weakness and all mortality—rests the silent image of a jackpot beyond anything we mortals can dream.
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Next Week: A Question of Beauty--Supermarkets, Supersymmetry, and the Genius of Kevyn Aucoin!
Cover Photo by Ameer Basheer on Unsplash
*Richard Silver Photo/Collection: Moment/Getty Images
**sanjeri/Collection: E+/Getty Images
*** Nobu Tamura, Creative Commons License
****©fitopardo/Collection: Moment/Getty Images