Satan's Gambit

by Conti, Gene;

  Philip, not knowing where I was going with this, confirmed, “Yes, that is generally the accepted theory for the process,” having a quizzical expression on his face.

  “So all the raw elements from the periodic table that are in the human body are worth what—about a five-spot, would you say Philip?”

  “Yes, I guess that’s about right,” he responded, as he shrugged his shoulders.

  I tossed a five dollar bill on the lab table, as I stated matter-of-factly, “Hmm, raw elements to a reproducing organism, all by random processes—a blind accident. Amazing!”

  Philip immediately interjected, “Remember, Doc, mutation and natural selection were at work to create this.”

  “Really!?” I rejoined sarcastically as I glanced down at Maria with a slight smile and wink again. I held each small cruet of elements, in turn I read each label aloud to no one in particular. “Carbon, sulfur, magnesium, potassium, sodium—all this together, we’re just a chemical accident, virtually worthless protoplasm. Maybe Hitler was right. Bet we don’t even taste like chicken.” The class laughed.

  “Philip, please explain to me and the class how mutation and natural selection work on raw elements to select for a reproducing life form?”

  “Huh?” His front desk legs came down with a hard thud that startled virtually everyone in the room, as it sounded like a minor explosion. Philip sat straight up with a dazed expression, like he got hit between the eyes.

  The entire class focused on Philip, never having seen him in such a trance-like state. They were confused as to what had just happened and why.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  BLIND CHANCE

  “While we wait for Philip to come out of his coma, I’ll let you in on what Philip knows. In order for natural selection and mutation to supposedly work, you need a living, reproducing cell to begin with. Dumb inorganic elements can’t select for anything.”

  Jim implanted his perspective immediately and vigorously. “What about the Miller experiments from the early ’50s that created amino acids—the building blocks for life?” he said, looking at me and then at Philip, hoping Philip will recuperate in time to support his claim.

  “You’re right, Jim. Amino acids are the building blocks for life. However, just one living, reproducing cell is akin to an entire functioning city. So, you’re going to need more than only bricks.”

  “Ah, it appears Philip is back among the living. Philip, please enlighten us as to Miller’s amino acids,” I petitioned with sarcasm again in my voice.

  Philip may have been an atheist, but at least he was an honest atheist.

  “Any biochemist worth his salt knows that the Miller-Urey experiments were a flop on a number of levels.”

  Jim appeared angry and bewildered. “We learned, back in junior high, high school, and even my basic biology course here at ICC about Miller - he made amino acids using lightning or electric sparks or something.” Many others in the class were making affirming sounds in support of Jim.

  Philip continued. “First, all life contains only polarized, left-handed amino acids. If you introduce even one right-handed amino acid into a protein, it’s useless, like breaking a chain. Miller produced a toxic mix of both left- and right-handed amino acids.”

  “Doc, should I go on with the rest of the story? It only gets worse, as you know.”

  “Go ahead, Philip, give them the full Monty,” I encouraged, deliberately knocking over the first vial as a symbolic gesture of failure.

  “Second, Miller assumed a primitive earth would have a reducing atmosphere.”

  “Better explain what that is to the class, Philip.”

  “A reducing atmosphere is one that contains poisonous methane, ammonia, hydrogen, and water vapor.”

  “C’mon Philip, tell them why Miller didn’t use our normal oxidizing atmosphere which contains water vapor, carbon dioxide, nitrogen, and oxygen.”

  “Doc, this is painful man. Okay, Okay. Miller didn’t use oxygen in his experiment because oxygen would eventually destroy anything he would, or could create.”

  With that I tipped over the next bottle of elements.

  The class was abuzz and animated. They highly respected Philip’s intellectual prowess, being a triple major. I could see that the lesson was very upsetting to some of them.

  “Tell them about the ammonia, Philip.”

  “The methane-ammonia hypothesis is in big trouble because ammonia, on a supposedly primitive earth, would have quickly disappeared.”

  I interrupted Philip, partially to shorten the agony. “Give the class the final blow regarding sugars.”

  “If Miller produced any sugars - again, it would have been a toxic 50-50 mixture. Sugars, like those found in proteins and nucleic acids, must be only right-handed. Introduce even one left-handed sugar, and kaboom—biologically speaking.”

  I slowly pushed over the next bottle onto my lab table.

  “Now, tell the class what happens when free amino acids and free sugars are placed together.”

  Philip swallowed hard. “They cancel each other out.”

  “Aaand …” I encouraged Philip to continue as I gave him the third-degree stare. He knew what he must say.

  “Therefore, you can’t form DNA, or any other proteins and enzymes. There, I’ve said it—are you happy?” He was very dispirited.

  “And have biochemists made any progress, Philip, in the laboratory, in the last seventy-plus years, toward building a reproducing life-form from scratch, i.e. from raw elements?” I asked. “And I assume the Biochemists are using their collective intellects and not blind random chance.”

  Philip hung his head and quietly said “No.” You could hear a pin drop.

  “Not even one grain of a mustard seed?” I said not so much to rub it in, but as to clue the students in to how manifestly complex life is—even the lowly mustard seed.

  After Philip’s last revelation, I proceeded to dramatically flick the remaining vials over with my finger. Philip just sat there demoralized, feeling he had somehow let the atheists down. I then directed my attention toward Pete who was majoring in geology and minoring in marine science - although I addressed the entire class. “Oh, and by the way, with all the digging through all the strata of time, all that geologists have ever found is our modern oxidizing atmosphere—never a reducing atmosphere.”

  Maggie broke the silence. “So if life didn’t come about by blind chance processes, how did it happen?” Maggie surprised me. She really had been listening and evaluating the discussion.

  Before I had a chance to reply, Jude spouted off, “What does all this have to do with the Matrix?”

  “Excellent question, Jude. If all of life, including humanity, is here by blind random processes - which appears to be skating on thin ice at this point - then, as the majority of the class agreed, each individual makes his own decisions of what is right or wrong for him or herself. And since each person is a god unto himself, it’s all about gaining power and control over the weak on every level. A big dog eat puny dog world,” I said as I approached Santi’s desk.

  ***

  Juan and Santi had approached me a few days earlier informing me that Santi was on psych meds—strong SSRIs. Since I was a physician, would I have any suggestions for Santi regarding these medications. When he crossed into the USA illegally, during the Obama years, he brought his two younger sisters with him. A coyote, people smuggler, aided them in this effort. However, in the confusion that took place at one of the Border Patrol camps, he and his sisters were separated. The coyote told him that if Santi ever wanted to see his sisters again, he would have to pay a huge sum of money. Santi didn’t have a peso to his name, having paid the coyote all he and his sisters had just to get across to the United States. The coyote told Santi that was too bad and that he was going to sell them in Baton Rouge to a pimp. I asked Juan if Santi had reported the sex trafficking operation to the authorities. Juan said that Santi was just too scared and confused at the time. He had no idea where h
is sisters were even now, which has caused him much stress. I gave Santi a referral to an organization that would try to help him locate his sisters. He thanked me.

  ***

  I bent over and whispered a request to Santi. He nodded and said “No hay problema.”

  I stood up and walked back to the front of the room and leaned against my lab table.

  “So Santi, do you agree now that everyone can do whatever he feels is right in his own eyes?”

  He proceeded to tell of his harrowing escapade with his sisters, alternating between tears, rage, and exasperation with a begging and pleading tone.

  Then he turned specifically toward Jude with tears welling up. “So hombre, you still think there’s no such thing as right or wrong? That coyote did what was right for himself and stole my hermanas to be sold like ganado. I was going to kill myself until I listened to today’s la leccion. Are we here by blind oportunidad? There has to be some supremo being, some Dios who made all this. There just must be, or we are all perdido—lost!” He then slumped into his chair silently bawling his eyes out.

  The class was like a morgue, dead silence. Everyone was just staring alternately between Jude and Santi. I noticed Andy become very pale and anxious, squirming uncomfortably in his seat.

  I stood up and exclaimed, “It looks like you have a lot to think about tonight, class.”

  Suddenly, a flash of lightning and a heavy booming crack of thunder brought the group back to life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THE HOAGIE

  Father Ed wanted me to meet him the following day for lunch, for one of his blethers at the Holy Grounds Coffee Shop. The day was a pure delight, the air having been cleansed after the horrific storm with just a touch of Indian summer to it.

  As I approached, I saw him standing straight as a rail with his signature high-and-tight Marine haircut—his hair still a medium gray—and wearing his long black cassock with clerical collar. He must be one of the last Catholic priests to wear a cassock, I thought. Father Ed was an anachronism, a dinosaur to most of the young monks and seminarians; however, they and the students respected him. After all, he had earned it.

  “Okay, Joe, ready to chow down?” His military demeanor oozed through.

  As we entered the coffee shop, he stopped and said something to one of the waitresses. She smiled politely, escorted us outside to the patio, and seated us at a small metal bistro set near the far wall, away from the building. Looking back, one could see the opaque stained glass windows of the coffee shop.

  The wall was about three feet high and constructed with stones which were quarried from the Blue Ridge Mountains. The wall replicated the stone walls found along the Blue Ridge Parkway, especially at scenic overlooks. The vistas beyond the wall of the valley below, and the mountains in the distance were breathtaking. Like many overlooks, there was a precipitous drop-off immediately on the far side of the wall, which cascaded somewhere down into the valley. Looking straight down, one could only see a tangle of shrubs, brush, trees, and other undergrowth that created an elegant green canopy, but which hid dangerous and deadly consequences for the reckless or foolish individual.

  We both ordered the soup de jour, which was New England clam chowder, and a hoagie. Mine was turkey and ham, and Father had the chicken salad with cranberries and cashews. We both selected lemonade to drink.

  “We need to talk, Joe,” Father Ed confided. “Something is happening on campus and you’re smack in the middle of it.”

  The waitress brought our drinks and served Father first.

  “See that petite dark-haired young lady,” Father said, nodding in the waitress’s direction as she left. “Her name is Cindy, and she’s married to a wonderful young man named Fred, who is majoring in marine engineering. She is busting her hump trying to raise two kids while putting Fred through school. She waitresses here part-time and works as a hairstylist to boot.”

  “Those two have some serious goals,” I acknowledged.

  “Yes, but it’s getting tougher and tougher for the average American with some chutzpah to achieve the American dream. This nation is turning into a third-world country,” he complained, taking a sip of his lemonade. “One of every three Americans is on some entitlement program and fully 25 percent of Mexico’s population lives in the U.S. illegally, or otherwise, as Ann Coulter reported several years ago. The government is deliberately dumbing down the country through Common Core and by desperately trying to eliminate homeschooling.” Father looked out on the mountains reflecting on his own statement.

  “I thought that they somehow voted that down?” I queried.

  “Joe, they just made some minor alterations and changed the name—that’s all. Local communities, at one time controlled the education of this nation, and then the states took it over. Now the federal government is in control. Do you know why?”

  “That’s easy; it’s a power and control thing. Hey, if I were a monarch, I probably would want the kids only to learn what I wanted taught.” Cindy arrived with our food.

  “Remember what I told you Hitler said? ‘He who owns the kids owns the future.’ Our Founding Fathers never wanted this. Show me in the Constitution where the federal government is supposed to run the education system, as well as a zillion other things? Or have we forgotten about the Tenth Amendment?” asked Father as he took a healthy bite of his hoagie.

  I looked at my measly turkey and ham, and then at his scrumptious chicken salad hoagie. Dang, I should have ordered the chicken salad, I thought to myself. I decided to start on the clam chowder.

  Still munching on his chicken sandwich, Father continued, “Yeah, dumb them down, brainwash them the way you want them to think, and guess how they are going to vote?” Some of the chicken salad oozed out of the corner of his mouth. He quickly grabbed his napkin to dab at it.

  Father, speaking through his napkin added, “And the few, who break through like Fred, still do not receive what we used to call a well-rounded liberal education in philosophy, theology, world history, economics, government, the arts, etcetera. A person like Fred will know a lot about one or two areas and essentially be ignorant in other fields.”

  “I totally agree, Father. Instead, their heads will be filled with social justice and global warming ecology courses—the usual Marxist tripe,” I concurred as I forced myself to take a bite of my blah turkey and ham. “And you know what the usual liberal response to the federal government controlling education is?” I asked. “It’s under the general welfare clause, for government to take care of everything!” I put the sandwich down and went back to my soup.

  “Yes, Joe, James Madison, within a few short years after the Constitution was ratified, needed to address this. Some representatives of the New England states wanted Congress to pass a bill to subsidize the cod fishermen, of course with monies from U.S. citizens.” The frustration was all over his face.

  “Guess those fishermen had a bad season or something,” I exclaimed, trying to lighten up Father’s mood while still staring at my mundane sandwich. “Yeah, I believe we call it a ‘stimulus’ now.”

  “What Madison, the father of our Constitution, stated, should be required memorization by every student, nay, every American. However, it’ll be a cold day in hell before the libs place Madison’s statement into a history textbook.”

  Father had stopped eating his chicken salad hoagie, and I kept eyeing it. “How did Madison put it?” I asked. “Okay, it’s been a while since I last negotiated Madison’s quote, but here goes.”

  “‘If Congress can employ money indefinitely to the general welfare, and are the sole and supreme judges of the general welfare, they may take the care of religion into their own hands; they may appoint teachers in every state, county and parish and pay them out of their public treasury; they may take into their own hands the education of children, establishing in like manner schools throughout the union; they may assume provision of the poor; they may undertake the regulation of all roads other than post roads; in short eve
ry thing, from the highest object of state legislation down to the most minute object of police, would be thrown under the power of Congress… Were the power of Congress to be established in the latitude contended for, it would subvert the very foundations, and transmute the very nature of the limited government established by the people of America.’”

  With that soliloquy, Father took a couple of long chugs of his lemonade.

  “Wow! The only thing Madison left out was health care,” I exclaimed, trying to make a funny. “For all practical purposes, the entire Constitution has been shredded—for quite some time,” I observed.

  Father Ed was on a roll. His chowder was getting cold, however.

  “Madison was spot on, even his comment on religion. And look what has happened to the police in our country. The local constabulary is now under the dictates of the feds. It started several years back with Ferguson, Baltimore, and Philly; the DOJ, in effect, required the cops to back off. Now, virtually all your inner cities are burning, figuratively and literally, with wanton unrestrained crime, controlled by gangs like MS13, Crips, and Bloods.”

  Father finally tasted his soup and then had a quizzical look, obviously wondering why it was cold.

  “Government-backed-and-supported agitators were bused in,” I supplemented, “fueling already tense situations. Instead of letting the courts sort it out, the paid agitators wanted street justice by rampaging and looting.” I stopped momentarily to attempt another small bite of my pathetic meal. “How is looting and burning a store for its condoms and chips being supportive of some guy these hoodlums didn’t even personally know?”

  Father had stopped eating altogether, having lost his appetite. “Now, the law-abiding citizens and businessmen, whose stores had been plundered and torched, are asking the same authority—the government -who fomented the problem, to solve the problem; which the government was more than happy to oblige.”