Mass conversions take place in a mood almost of hysteria as millions of new converts are drawn to the sacred rites. They will then ascend into the holy temple of wealth and fame and be reshaped into new creatures, a new investment in the total perpetuation of the game itself. The gift of the sun is wealth beyond our dreams. In the halls of Las Vegas the prayer wheels spin, the fake volcano erupts, the pirate ships sink in the fake lagoon, the pretty fake Roman citizens pose for another hour at the end of the moving sidewalks, the laser beams shoot toward the sky and the fake New York and fake pyramids and fake castles all glitter and gleam in the dark. The waters of Lake Mead evaporate in the desert air and the silent mountains all around wait for the rustle of life in this unnatural setting to finally grow quiet and blow away on the winds.
Religion is a ritual fueled by hope.
The only hope the spectacle offers is that the winner can escape the game, in some transcendent gnostic financial rapture. We are like the little fuzzy aliens in Toy Story, waiting to be lifted out of our container by the giant mechanical claws of God. Ralph Melcher is a freelance editor and essayist living in Santa Fe, New Mexico.