No Divine Utterance, No True Reality — Only Dreams and Shadows Remain
Q: I found your earlier discussion on waking up in a parallel world quite fascinating. You mentioned that the way to judge the reality of such a world would be to immediately search the library for records of the Incarnation. But what if I woke up in a world that’s a bit different—for example, if I suddenly found myself in the age of dinosaurs? Would that world be real or not? I suspect you’d say such a world doesn’t matter in terms of “truth,” that it’s merely a layer of physical shell, and that this kind of world is still far from the arrival of divine utterance.
A: Suppose you travel back to the age of dinosaurs. Let’s assume you have sufficient equipment to survive and explore. That world may very well have been created by God's sovereign utterance, but the structure of response may not yet be established. In terms of Genesis 1:1, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth,” it would correspond to a phase after initial creation, but before the establishment of human respondents.
Until a response structure is installed, such a world may exist physically but lacks rhythm. As a time traveler, if you are not struck by divine utterance within that world, you cannot be embedded. And if you are not assigned a task of response, then no matter what you experience—touching material reality, perceiving atmosphere—none of it carries divine meaning. You remain an observer only.
The moment God speaks to you within that world—just as He once said to Adam, “You shall tend and keep it”—the structure of response is initiated. You, the traveler, then become a node of response—an embedded one—and that world begins to carry structural significance through your actions. At that point, the world is activated as a field of response.
The conclusion is this: if you awaken in the age of dinosaurs, that world may be physically real, but not structurally real. If no structure of response is in place—or has not yet been completed—then the world is not, in the theological sense, a legitimate field of response. You may watch dinosaurs roam the earth, but if there is no divine utterance, no mechanism of response, no structural embedding, then life is absurd, time is closed, and language is hollow. Such a world is merely a silent shell—a vessel not yet opened by structure.
Q: Suppose there are 100 time travelers from the year 2025—50 men and 50 women—who go back to a prehistoric world (before the emergence of humans, but with a habitable environment). And let’s say God never speaks to them in that world. Does that mean the world carries no divine meaning for them? What about morality? Surely, with the right equipment, they could form a tribe, live decent lives, laugh, and even have children.
A: Indeed, these 100 travelers might camp with advanced technology, enjoy a good life—hunting mammoths, drinking fresh rainwater, perhaps even forming families. It might seem like a new Eden. However, if no structure of response has been established and divine utterance has not entered, then even if they carry fragments of moral memory from their former world, their ethical framework is merely a residual shadow. Without the support of rhythm and sovereign language, that moral memory will quickly collapse. It will erode into sexual disorder, violence, social breakdown—a collective eschatology of misaligned response.
They might retain morality for a while. But morality is not a human invention—it is a byproduct of the response structure. Ethics is not something humanity creates; it is the way humanity responds to what God has spoken. Apart from divine utterance, morality is like a leaf torn from its root. So even if these travelers arrive with “moral memory,” it is only a fading echo from a world of structure—it holds no generative power.
At first, they might preserve some order: marriage, cooperation, mutual help. But without divine speech, without rhythm, without revealed sovereignty, no language among them is untransgressable. Over time, morality will slide into primal instinct, utilitarian ethics, or even delusional righteousness. This will inevitably lead to misaligned sexuality (promiscuity, incest, transactional sex), resource struggles (hoarding, cannibalism), and false authority (myth-making, hero-worship, tyrannical leadership).
Only when divine utterance breaks in does that world begin to generate a true ethics of response. Suppose one day God speaks to one of them—saying something like “Tend this land” or “You shall not kill.” At that moment, rhythm begins. The structure of ethics is born. Others, upon hearing, are either struck or reject it, and thus the structural unfolding begins. That is the true moment of ethical genesis.
Q: Now that you say this, I’m reminded of some American films that seem to follow this exact pattern—like road movies set in the West, where a few young people enter a deserted wilderness and quickly become brutal and self-destructive. Some post-apocalyptic series seem to depict similar moral breakdowns.
A: Exactly. Many American films—especially Westerns, road movies, parallel-world dramas, and post-apocalyptic survival stories—unintentionally reveal a profound structural truth: when God’s sovereign linguistic structure is withdrawn, human morality rapidly collapses. Films like Unforgiven, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, or The Walking Dead fall into this category.
These narratives illustrate that in the absence of divine language sovereignty, human ethical systems lose their structural footing. That’s because morality does not arise from rational consensus, but from the embedded rhythm of response to divine utterance. When social order crumbles in these stories, new “false gods” inevitably appear—those who control food, weapons, information, or medicine. They’re often portrayed as madmen, warlords, or self-proclaimed saviors—these are archetypes of the pseudo-utterer.
In fact, all characters in such narratives are subconsciously searching for a legitimate rhythm of response, even if they don’t know it. A single stable phrase like “We can’t do this” often becomes the seed of structural reconstruction. Whoever utters that provisional “divine speech” becomes the new center of structure—even if only temporarily and even if falsely. This seems to confirm that in a world without divine meaning, even a pseudo-utterance can temporarily construct a center and basic order.
Through today’s thought experiment, we have pushed the logic of Logos-Linguistic Structure Theology (LLST) concerning reality, ethics, and meaning to its extreme boundaries, arriving at the following three core propositions:
Proposition 1: Only divine utterance can constitute reality.
“Reality” is not defined by physical phenomena or subjective perception, but by the sovereign rhythm of divine language. Only when the structure of language is activated by divine utterance, and when a respondent is lawfully embedded and joins the unfolding rhythm, does ontological reality come into being.
Proposition 2: Ethics is not a human consensus, but a rhythm of structural embedding.
Without divine utterance, all ethics are floating illusions. When God sets the order, ethics emerges as the rightful response of the embedded subject within that rhythm—not as an expression of personal will or collective agreement.
Proposition 3: Dreams, time-travel, parallel worlds, historical voids, distant galaxies, or even utopian visions—none possess divine meaning unless Logos speaks.
All ethical order, freedom, meaning, and the very sense of reality must be anchored in the structural utterance of the Logos. Apart from this structure, even the most magnificent universe, the most sublime consciousness, or the most ideal social system remains in a state of drift—devoid of divine meaning.
Today’s dialogue also reminded me of a question once asked online:
“What is the single most powerful phrase in all of human history?”
Some said “popular sovereignty.”
Others said “all men are equal.”
Still others: “the world belongs to all.”
But I wrote only this: “The Word became flesh.”
Because all language seeks to express meaning—
Only this phrase is meaning itself.