The familiar stranger spoke up.
“You know, it's not a fair argument between the two of you.”
I drank my beer. My friends took the bait.
“Which part?”
“What do you mean it's not a fair argument?”
He finished a long pull on his mug, set it down, and replied in his own time.
“The whole conversation is unfair. It's completely out of balance. How can you have a rational discussion if you can't even agree on the basic terms?”
“What do you mean?”
“Alright. You, for some reason, insist on using a moral argument.”
He looked at my skeptical friend.
“But that doesn't work, does it? You're putting morality into black and white, trying to claim that one thing is always wrong and another is always right. But as far as I'm concerned, in the real world, no one ever thinks they're the bad guy. Everyone always has a reason for what they're doing, even if it's a crazy reason. On some level, they think what they're doing is justified. They believe that what they're doing is the only reasonable course of action. Otherwise, they wouldn't be doing it!”
“I don't know if I quite believe that,” I said. “I think some people know full well they're hurting other people.”
“Sure they do. But even then, they feel like they're doing it for a reason. Even if their actions are based on an angry impulse or spite, on some level, they feel like the other person has it coming, that they deserve to be mistreated. If that's the case, you can justify anything. There were Nazis who genuinely believed they were doing the right thing, who thought the Holocaust was absolutely necessary. And yes, I realize that's a ridiculous example, but it's true. If there are people out there who can justify the extermination of an entire race, then we're all in the territory of moral relativism. No matter how good your argument is about the existence of evil in the presence of a loving, all powerful god, it goes out the window when you can't get everyone to agree on the same definitions of right and wrong.”
My idealistic friend spoke up again.
“That wasn't my argument at all. Right and wrong are not shades of gray, they're black and white. I'm just saying that the hand of God is too complex for human beings to judge.”
“It's the same thing. What one person sees as evil, another person sees as a complicated act for the greater good of mankind. It doesn't matter whether you believe in moral relativism or not. The fact that the two of you can talk about the same series of events and come to different conclusions about the motives behind them is proof of that. You don't have to agree with me. In fact, your disagreement confirms what I'm saying. Our friend here pointed it out, though. Morality isn't the best argument.”
Eyes turned toward me. I took a long sip of beer.
“What is he talking about?”
I set my mug down.
“He's right. The moral argument doesn't hold up if you can't agree on the terms. If you're really interested in talking about the existence of god, you have to approach it from a different angle.”
I got questioning looks from the debaters at the table, but I really didn't want to get into it. I pretended I not to notice and drank more instead.
“I think I know what he's getting at,” the stranger said.
“And what's that?”
“Alright.” He took a breath.
“Western religion is based on the concept of free will. A man chooses between faith and doubt, sin and salvation. If he doesn't have the freedom to make those kinds of decisions, western religion has no meaning. We're talking about morality at its core: the choice between right and wrong.”
“I see where you're going with this, and it's a bullshit argument. There's no conflict between determinism and free will. I know that if I push this glass off the table it'll fall and hit the ground, but you can't pretend I'm controlling gravity. Understanding cause and effect ahead of time isn't interference. God knowing what you're about to do isn't the same thing as Him making you do it.”
“Actually, observation can be interference. If you-”
“We're not talking about quantum mechanics.”
“I agree with you one hundred percent, but that wasn't the argument I was going to make. You're absolutely right. God can be all knowing and people can still have free will. But before we go on, are we agreeing that free will is an integral part of at least Christianity?”
“I know people who would probably disagree, but for the sake of conversation, sure. We can agree on that.”
I continued drinking without interrupting the three of them.
“Okay. So we're talking about an all knowing, all powerful god. The problem as far as I'm concerned, is that people don't carry those ideas to their logical conclusions. We're dealing with a god who knows absolutely everything. He knows every single individual on Earth personally. He knows them better than they know themselves. He knows – and doesn't even have make an effort to remember – every thought they've ever had, every thought they'll ever have. He has an intimate understanding of their motives and inner reasoning. He knows exactly how every person who is currently living and has ever lived would respond in any given situation.”
“Here it comes,” I thought.
“That's the implication of the phrase all knowing that no one seems to think much about. But there's no problem with that on its own. Where it gets complicated, is that most modern Christians seem to believe in a god that listens to and responds to prayer. Whether a person gets what they pray for or not, they consider it a response from god. For example, a woman's husband dies and she's overcome with grief. Her friends and surviving family members pray that she'll find some small comfort in the days, weeks, and months to come. It's a fair example. It's happened millions of times, it's not selfish, and it's non-specific enough that people can interpret the results however they like. We're not asking for motorcycles or new houses. We're praying for the mental health of a grieving widow. Let's say she learns to cope with her loss. Over time she finds some comfort in happy memories and the thought that her husband is in a better place. Our prayers are answered! Praise the lord! But what if it goes the other way? What if she's totally inconsolable? She starts drinking heavily. She becomes completely dependent on antidepressants. She's not the same woman she was when her husband was with her. How do we interpret that one? The lord works in mysterious ways. People start talking about Job. No matter how confusing or difficult to understand life is, god has a plan.”
“What are you getting at?”
“An all powerful god can make either one happen. In any given situation, god can answer or defer a prayer. Put that together with being all knowing, and god knows exactly what effect an answer or deferment will have. He knows your moments of strength and moments of weakness. He knows them for everyone. He knows when a person is at their limit, their breaking point. He knows the crucial moments when a person is on the brink of despair. He knows exactly what it would take to restore that person to faith. He knows what will bring a sinner to salvation and what will test a righteous man. Because god has complete knowledge of those moments and their circumstances, because god has the power to act or remain idle, he is the one true arbiter of faith and doubt. When a man desperately wants to remain faithful, god knows exactly what will bring him low. He knows what will destroy his resolve. If god allows the temptation to occur when he knows what the result will be, god has chosen in favor of damnation while the man still lives and breathes. And the consequences don't end there. When one domino falls, others will follow. An all knowing god understands the repercussions of that man's damnation. He knows how it will hurt or inspire the man's friends, family, or even his enemies. God has chosen happiness or despair for those people, too. By interfering with one person's very salvation, god has set in motion a chain reaction that will impact the faith or doubt of dozens of other people. When god chooses to intercede, he knows what all the inevitable side effects of intercession will be. By acting, he chooses what will happen. He
decides which choices will be available to us, and he knows how we will act based on the circumstances he has created through his interference.”
He paused for a drink of beer and gestured with his mug.
“See, the ancient Greeks could believe in intercession because their gods were not all knowing and all powerful. In those days, it wasn't unreasonable to think that a goddess could guide you through an odyssey. But with our modern interpretation of godhood, we don't get the same luxury. If an all knowing, all powerful god responds to prayer, if he has ever interfered with mankind, he has taken the vital gift of free will from the people whose lives he has affected. If man does not freely choose between sin and salvation, between faith and doubt, then the forced choices are meaningless. A man should not have to pay for sins he did not freely commit or be rewarded for virtue that came without decision. The very idea of an all knowing, all powerful god that intercedes, that has ever interacted with human beings is completely incompatible with the traditional understanding of morality.”
The table was silent. I finished my beer and set down the empty glass.
“I think that's my cue.”
I went to the crowded bar to pay my tab. A guy to my left was lining up a row of small plastic cups as I signed the credit card slip. He counted them and then counted the people at the bar, recounted and reassigned before handing the cups out. One stopped in front of me.
“What's this?”
“Just drink it.”
“What is it?”
“Just shut up and drink it. It's free.”
I was already drunk, but the fight wasn't worth it. I took the cup and slammed it back. There was too much for a shot and it went down hard. I didn't notice the taste until it was too late. It was like muddy lemon juice mixed with rubbing alcohol, and it was thick. It stuck in my throat and the fumes worked their way up into my nose. I had to fight to hold onto the contents of my stomach. The shot itself nearly came back up midway down my esophagus.
“Ugh. What the hell was that?”
I could still feel sludge from the cup running down the back of my throat.
“Good, huh? Just wait. You'll like it.”
My stomach was in full revolt. It was time to go. I shook my head and turned for the door. I took the keys out of my back pocket and started looking for my car. It took me a minute to find it. I hit the unlock button and slumped into the driver's seat. The cold steering wheel felt good against my forehead as I tried to regain control of my stomach. It was churning. I took a deep breath and put the key into the ignition. I glanced at the dash as I backed up. There were two of each number. I turned the wheel toward home and closed one eye so I could see straight. The car lurched and made a thumping, scraping noise as I caught the corner of a curb. Fortunately, there was nobody on the road and home was close. I worked to keep the world in focus and activated cruise control once I hit the speed limit.
Blue and red lights flashed on the inside of my car.
“Fuck.”
I looked in the rear view mirror and the lights seemed far away. Maybe they were for someone else. A single whoop came from the car's siren directly behind me. It made me jump.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
I turned off at the next side street and parked far enough from the corner to give the officer some room. I rolled down the window and realized how cold it was outside. The icy air made me shiver, but helped sober me up a little bit. Even though my stomach was in knots, the nausea had passed for the time being. At least I had that going for me.
“License, registration, and proof of insurance.”
I started digging through my pockets and the glove compartment. I gave the officer my license, but only after nearly handing over my credit card instead.
“I've got the other stuff in here. I know I do. I'm just having trouble finding it. If you give me a second...”
“Sir, have you been drinking this evening?”
“I had a couple beers.”
“Don't worry about the registration and proof of insurance. Just sit tight for a second and I'll be right back.”
“Okay. Breathe. This might work out alright. He didn't even need my registration. It's gonna be alright.” At least that's what I was thinking. He was back from the squad car before I had time to get myself too worked up, but my heart was pounding.
“Sir, can you see my finger?”
“Yes I can.”
“I'm going to ask you to follow it back and forth with your eyes, but don't move your head. Do you understand?”
“Yes I do.”
He started moving his finger horizontally across my field of vision. His motions were especially deliberate near the outer limits. I ducked instinctively when his finger passed behind the window frame. He cocked his head and looked at me.
“Sorry – you passed the edge of the window frame.”
“Please step out of the car.”
A wave of dread passed over me as I stepped out onto the pavement.
“Come over here to the sidewalk, if you could.”
A second police car pulled up behind the first and turned on its lights. I stood there shivering in my jacket as the officers conferred with one another. The sidewalk had been cleared, but the lawns surrounding us were still hidden under blankets of snow. I had to pee. One officer approached me while the other kept his distance. He cleared his throat, ready to recite.
“I'm going to ask you to perform a few simple tasks. If you do not understand what I'm asking you to do, or if there is any reason you might be unable to perform the task as instructed, you need to inform me in advance. Do you understand what I've said so far?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Good. Okay. I'm going to ask you to please count down from seventy-six to fifty-eight by ones without skipping any numbers. Do you understand the instructions?”
“Count down from seventy-six to fifty-eight.”
“Is there any reason you would be unable to do that for me tonight?”
“No sir.”
“Okay. Whenever you're ready.”
“Seventy-six to fifty-eight.”
“Seventy-six to fifty-eight.”
“Okay. Seventy-six, seventy-five, seventy-four, seventy-three, seventy-two, seventy-one, seventy. Sixty-nine, sixty-eight, sixty-seven, sixty-six...”
God, it felt like I was counting forever.
“...Sixty-five, sixty-four, sixty-three, sixty-two...”
Shit, what did he say? Was it seventy-six to fifty-eight or seventy-eight to fifty-six? Shit. What was it?
“...Sixty-one, sixty...”
Gotta go with your gut. Seventy-six to fifty-eight.
“Fifty-nine, fifty-eight.”
Should I go on? Should I keep going? No. Stop. I'm gonna stay.
“Alright. Next I'm going to ask you to speak the alphabet from G to R without singing. Are you familiar with the alphabet?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Is there any reason you would be unable to do that for me this evening?”
“No sir.”
“Okay. From G to R without singing, whenever you're ready.”
I had to think for a second. I wasn't sure if I'd ever started the alphabet at G. After another moment of mental preparation, I was ready.
“G, H, I, J, K...”
I wasn't singing, but I was definitely speaking to the rhythm of the alphabet song. It felt weird. When was the last time I'd spoken the alphabet?
“...L, M, N, O, P...”
He said R, right? It was R.
“...Q, R.”
It felt like I was stopping in the wrong place.
“Alright. The next thing I'm going to ask you to do is stand on one foot. Hold the other foot six inches off the ground for twenty seconds. No counting out loud. Do you understand the instructions as I've given them to you?”
“Yes I do.”
“Is there any reason you would be unable to do that for me right now?”
I was freezing. I don't know how cold
it was or how long I'd been standing out there, but I was shaking. My teeth were chattering.
“Well it's pretty cold, but besides that.”
“Are you saying you are unable to complete the instructions I've given to you?”
I considered that for a second. What if I said yes? Would they just arrest me right there?
“I'll do my best.”
“Alright. One foot six inches off the ground for twenty seconds without counting out loud. You can pick which foot.”
I picked up one foot and immediately felt unstable. Each test was asking me to do something familiar, but while tracking two different variables at the same time. I tried to get my foot about six inches off the ground first. I figured that wasn't very high, but I was more worried about keeping my balance than getting the six inches right. I counted slowly in my head. I had always been a lousy estimate of time. Was I going too slow? Too fast? Again, I decided I had to go with my gut. For a split second I lost my balance. My foot hit the ground, but it went right back up.
“Sorry.”
I kept counting in my head like it hadn't happened. Unfortunately, I hadn't completely reestablished my balance after the first wobble and my foot hit the ground again.
“Sorry. It's freezing.”
I got to twenty and let myself breathe again with both feet on the ground.
“Thank you. Alright sir. I'm going to ask you to blow into this straw as hard as you can. You need to keep going until this green light comes on, okay? You're going to feel like you're out of air, but just keep going until that light comes on.”
This wasn't going to end well. I had to get out of this.
“I just came from the bar, and I finished a drink right before I walked out the door. I might still have alcohol in my mouth.”
I knew that would give a false high reading. We learned all about breath tests in high school – like how using mouthwash can make it look like you're drunk from the traces of alcohol it leaves behind.
“That's alright. We can wait.”
Shit. I wanted to refuse the test, but I knew they'd just arrest me and take me in to do a blood test. Plus, I was pretty sure that meant you sacrificed your driver's license on the spot. The officers were chatting quietly to one another while I stood there freezing to death. In what seemed like no time at all, the lead officer returned with the breathalyzer.
Telemachus Rising Page 7
