Those who can kill themselves do, and those who can’t, teach philosophy. - James Morrow

With a rush of joy, I realized that this Darwinist stance would appeal neither to secular Marxists, for whom moral lessons lay exclusively within history’s brute curriculum, nor to evangelical Christians, for whom a naturalist ethics was a contradiction in terms, nor to middle-class mystics, who detested any argument smacking of biological determinism. A philosophical position that could simultaneously antagonize the collectivist left, the God-besotted right, and the Aquarian fringe must, I decided, have a lot going for it.

You aspired to be God's advocate, you got the job, you performed admirably. But God's advocate was ipso facto my advocate. Theodicy's a sucker's game, Professor. When Yahweh was operational, humanity's obligation wasn't to worship Him, for chrissakes. It was to celebrate His creativity and stand forevermore opposed to His malice. And anybody such as yourself, anybody who sought to shoehorn an omnibenevolent God into the same universe as Auschwitz...that person, Dr. Gregory Francis Lovett—that person did the Devil's work for him.

Murray held his daughter at arm’s length. “Does God...er, visit you?”
“She doesn’t even whisper to me. I listen, but she doesn’t talk. It’s not fair.” God didn’t talk. The best news he’d heard since Gabriel Frostig announced his embryo. “Look Julie, it’s good she doesn’t talk. God asks her children to do crazy things. It’s good she doesn’t whisper. Understand?”
“I guess.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. Where’d the crab go? Is he looking for his friends?” A profound weariness pressed upon Murray. “Yes. Right. His friends. It’s good God doesn’t whisper.”