Jobran asked, “Why are you a skeptic?”
“Why are you an irrationalist?” Ted countered, without missing a beat.
“I’m not.”
Abraham interjected, saying, “I think that what Jobe means is, ‘Why do you apparently spend all your free time attacking the ideas of others?’” He crossed his arms, and said, “Are you only ‘negative’? Do you ever put forward any ‘positive’ ideas of your own?”
Ted looked at Abraham curiously, and said, “I teach a positive conception of rational thinking—that is, the positive use of our critical intellectual faculties.” He shrugged, then said, “In my classes, I try to present the same thing, but quite frankly it’s difficult-to-impossible these days to get my students to think critically and rationally about anything, because they’re so filled up with occultic crap and metaphysical hogwash from birth. And even the few that can think clearly, refuse to do so, because they’re so imbued with the notion of epistemological relativism: that is, the notion that, ‘what’s true is what’s true for you,’ and ‘what’s true for me isn’t necessarily true for you.’” He shook his head sorrowfully, a depressed look on his face, and said, “It’s getting nearly impossible to make room in their heads for anything that isn’t garbage.” He looked at his watch, then said, “Oh, shit; I need to start heading back, since I don’t want to be riding my trail bike when it gets dark.”
An expression of shock on his face, Abraham said, “You rode a bicycle up here? Through all those winding roads?”
With a flush of pride on his face, Ted answered, “Sure thing; I ride my bike most anywhere within a 100-mile radius.” Then in a sly voice, he added, “Now or course, if you gentlemen were to offer to give me and my bike a lift back into the city, I wouldn’t turn it down.” Somewhat sheepishly, he said, “I have to admit that those hills were a little bit higher than they looked on my Yahoo map.”
Jobran and Abraham looked at each other, shrugged, and Abraham said, “Sure, why not? Where’s your bike at?”
“Hallelujah!” Ted said, delighted. “It’s parked up by the main building.” Then suddenly, his hand dove into his hip pocket, and he extracted a well-used silver flask. Unscrewing the top, he said, “Well, now, if I don’t have to worry about making all of those twists and turns on the bike, I guess I can let myself have a little shot or two or three, right?” and he drank a robust swallow, coughing slightly as he finished.
“So the only spirits you believe in are the alcoholic kind,” Jobran said, smiling.
Ted laughed heartily, and said, “That’s a good way of putting it; I’ll have to remember that phrase, and use it myself.” He took another long swallow, then said, “I’m a rather steady drinker, myself; having to do without for the trip up here damn near killed me. However, after getting my first and only DUI, I came across a fantastic book by Fred Beyerlein, and since then I now eat better and take vitamin supplements, so I’m fairly close to being the very picture of health— notwithstanding that I drink a hell of a lot. Plus, since I ride my bicycle or take the bus to wherever I am traveling, I am in good standing with the law enforcement community, as well.” Putting his flask back in his hip pocket, he said, “So, shall we be on our way?”
Abraham looked to Jobran, who shrugged and said, “I think I’ve seen as much of the Institute here as I need to see.” So the three made their way back to the main building, and succeeded in getting Ted’s bicycle into the trunk of Abraham’s car, and they set out on their way back, with Ted sitting in the back seat.
They were all quiet for the first ten minutes or so of the drive, as they negotiated the worst of the winding roads. “I can’t believe you bicycled up here,” Abraham said, shaking his head.
“Didn’t say it was easy,” Ted responded, taking another swallow from his flask.
“So tell me, Ted,” Jobran said, “Why is it that you do what you do?”
Ted sat back and said expansively, “I live for the purpose of poking holes in the illusions and cherished beliefs of others, whenever they are superstitious and irrational. It rather amuses me to see how gullible some people are.” He sat up, leaned forward across the seat, and said, “Take the good ‘Reverend Doctor’ Montaine, for example—he’s a complete phony. He was originally just a pitchman for an ad company, but after he claims he had an NDE—and personally, I’m suspicious because he didn’t start talking about it publicly until years after it supposedly took place—he enrolled in a couple of those New Age correspondence courses for ‘psychic healers,’ and before you knew it he had certificates that proclaimed him a ‘Reverend of Alternative Therapeutic Ministry,’ and a ‘Doctor of Applied Psychic Science,’ or some other crap like that.” With a mocking tone, he added, “It all makes him sound more respectable than if he were just plain old ‘Mikey Montaine,’ of course.”
“Would you have more respect for him if he had gone to a regular seminary?” Abraham asked, his concentration still on his driving.
Ted thought for a moment, then said, “Depends on the seminary; some places like Union Theological Seminary, or a Catholic university with a good philosophy program, I probably would—they’ve got some genuine academic programs at those. But most of the seminarians at places like that are actually atheists, really.” He then added, “But most of these New Age-y places are a joke; you watch 20 hours of videos to show you how to put on a good show, then they declare you a ‘Healing Practitioner,’ ‘Certified Metaphysical Bible Expositor,’ ‘Spiritual Counselor,’ ‘Minister of New Thought/Metaphysics,’ or some other dogshit like that—after you’ve paid them a couple thousand bucks, of course. The whole thing is a scam, just like those phony Pentecostal teachers that give phony degrees and conduct so-called ‘Bible Colleges’ by videotape.” He paused, trying to gauge Jobran’s reaction, then said, “I take it you don’t agree?”
Jobran shrugged, and said, “The more I look into the matter, I less I feel that ‘proper’ academic credentials are essential to being an ‘authority’ in a lot of areas. The average graduate of even a traditional seminary has only read a couple of dozen books in the field by the time he or she graduates; that’s far less than even a moderately-motivated person can read in a single year.” He tossed his hands up, and added, “Attending a seminary just gives them the advantage of having taken a number of ‘survey’ classes, where a 15- or 30-minute minute lecture on some topic is supposed to make you an ‘expert’ in the area.”
Defensively, Ted said, “Hey—don’t knock ‘survey’ courses; a college kid who listens to my one-hour lecture on Kant is a lot better-grounded than someone who tried to read the Critique of Pure Reason on his own for a week.”
Since the worst roads were now behind them, Abraham could actively join the conversation, and he asked, “But you didn’t really answer the original question: Why do you attack other people’s beliefs? What’s in it for you?” Eyeing Ted in the rear-view mirror, he added, “I mean, it’s not like you’re going to go to Heaven as a result of doing ‘good works’ as a skeptic.” Seeing that Ted was slow to respond, he added, “Why don’t you just teach philosophy, but let other people believe what they want to believe?”
Ted started to answer, but then stopped, and took a long, reflective swallow from his flask before answering. “Well, quite honestly, that’s what a lot of my other colleagues in the philosophy and science departments tell me I should do. In fact, they look rather askance at me for dabbling in this area, and for trying to hold together a local Skeptics’ Society.” He shook his head ruefully, and added, “Believe me, holding a group of freethinkers together is infinitely harder than trying to keep together a group that professes some kind of religious creed.”
Abraham kept pressing home the point, saying, “Why do you do it, then? Don’t you have sufficient philosophical work at the University to keep you occupied?”
Ted looked troubled, then added, “Well, now that you ask…No. I’ve b
een teaching the same classes for so many years that I could probably do them in my sleep—or while I was doing ‘lucid dreaming,’ perhaps. I really need greater intellectual stimulation than just ripping apart the religious beliefs of wide-eyed freshmen and sophomores, who never even heard of the Scopes Monkey Trial, much less Biblical Criticism, in their little ‘Christian’ high schools.” He drained the last swallow from his flask, and said quietly, “And quite frankly, the days of my greatest philosophical achievements are probably behind me. I published several textbooks on philosophy when I was young, and I was hoping they would get me appointed to a major university; unfortunately, they didn’t catch on, nor did I.” Then, in a brighter tone, he added, “But that’s one good thing about this field of refuting Para-Fake-ology: You don’t need to be a genius, or even performing at your own personal intellectual peak in order to do the critical work, because the intellectual bar is set so low in this area. Anyone with a half-way functional sense of critical judgment comes out ahead of all the loonies, because these occultists are all so loose-minded their brains are liable to fall out at any time.”
Abraham had listened carefully, but made no reply. There was a moment of silence as the car proceeded on.
“What’s this about some haunted house?” Jobran asked.
With enthusiasm, Ted replied, “I’m about to go and spend a night in a supposed ‘haunted house,’ that’s just outside the city limits. It used to be a speakeasy during Prohibition, but the owner—named Halloway—went nuts one night and killed his wife and daughter, then killed himself. Since then, the house has only been inhabited twice, for short periods of time, and both groups that tried to live in it left screaming it was haunted. I saw in the local paper a claim from one of the local New Agers claiming that the house was a ‘classic example of a haunted house,’ so like our Society does with all prominent local stories claiming to have evidence of the supernatural, I made an offer/challenge: to spend the night in it.
Since the challenge was made publicly, and was mentioned by a local radio station, the New Ager couldn’t very well back down.”
Jobran said to Abraham enthusiastically, “Now, that’s an area that we haven’t explored so far—the notion of disembodied spirits, manifesting themselves on earth.”
With sincerity, Ted said, “You’re more than welcome to join me; it’s tomorrow night.” Persuasively, he added, “Besides, having a ‘man of the cloth’ along with me would be good press. I tried to get a Baptist preacher to come along with me for the ride, but he ended up chickening out, because he got worried that ‘Maybe the Devil himself was in the house,’ or some crap like that.” Trying to sound balanced and reasonable, he continued, “Another consideration: having more than one person makes it harder for someone to try and pull a fast one on you. You’d be surprised how many of these supposed ‘hauntings’ turn out to be simply real human beings that are staging the whole thing behind the scenes, either looking for money or publicity.” And he laughed, and added, “Or who are trying to destroy the property values of someone they hate.”
Abraham is now caught up with the excitement, and said, “We’re on vacation for another two days, since we anticipated staying at Montaine’s Institute for at least two or three days; so we could sit in with you.”
“Excellent!” Ted exclaimed, joyfully. “It’ll be an experience to tell your grand-kids about.”
Jobran asked, “What do we need to bring?”
Seriously, Ted said, “The most important thing to bring is your critical intellect.” He thought for a moment, then added, “But in addition to that, maybe some flashlights and warm clothing would be a good idea; cell phones; and maybe a camera.” Then a troubled look came over his face, and he said, “Hey, we’ve gotta think about publicity; what should we call ourselves?”
Abraham grinned, and said, “How about, ‘The Three Ghostketeers’?”
And they all laughed: for the time being, one in purpose.
25
RESTLESS SPIRITS
Abraham stopped the car in the unkempt driveway in front of the old house. Both Jobran and Abraham unfastened their seat belts, and look around before opening their car doors.
“There he is, right on the front porch,” said Jobran.
“Drinking a beer, as always,” said Abraham, laughing. “Now, you’re sure you want to go through with this?”
With determination, Jobran said, “I vowed that nothing in heaven or earth would stop me—so I’m certainly not going to let a couple of supposed spooks interfere with my quest.”
They both exit the car, and walk toward the house, waving at Ted, who waves back happily.
“Thought you’d never make it,” he said. He is sitting on the porch, with several large cases and his parked bike next to him.
Abraham looks around, and sees that Ted is alone. “So where are all the other members of your Skeptics’ Society?”
“They dropped off my stuff,” he said, nodding at the three cases, “Then split.” Ted finished the last of his beer, then crushed it with one hand, and tossed it away into the abundant weeds around the house. “As much as I hate to admit it, our members aren’t much when it comes to ‘field work.’”
“So they’re not going to stay overnight?” asked Jobran.
“That’s about the size of it, I guess,” said Ted, resignedly. “It’s hard to get people to take out time for a ‘volunteer’ organization.”
“Maybe you should promise them eternal happiness if they perform good skeptical deeds here on Earth,” suggested Abraham, with a straight face.
“That might work,” said Ted, laughing. “Actually, I suppose that our group is more anti-religion, than it is anti-supernatural. We have two members who are real activists when it comes to attacking religion, for example. If you ever want to hold a debate on the subjects, ‘Christianity versus Atheism,’ ‘Is the Bible Literally True?’ or hear a hilarious lecture on ‘Sex and the Bible,’ they’ll be there anytime, anywhere, and anyplace. But although our members love to sit around in meetings and make fun of the supernatural, when it comes to actually taking the time to disprove some supposed ‘supernatural’ event, they’re not usually interested.”
“Why not?” asked Jobran.
“I guess they feel that, ‘we know that the supernatural is a bunch of nonsense, so we don’t need to prove it,’” Ted said, shrugging his shoulders. “The trouble is, not everyone perceives the connection between being anti-religion, and anti-supernaturalism in general; to me, it’s obvious that these are both just different sides of the same coin. If you profess to be anti-religion, but you’re willing to allow the possibility that there may be ‘spooks’ in old houses, or in your own mind, then you’ve already lost the battle. You may as well say that God knows all your impure and sinful thoughts, if you’re willing to admit that some other human being can read your thoughts.” He started rummaging in his coat pocket.
“Want some help with all this stuff?” asked Jobran.
“Sure,” said Ted, pointing at one large box. “Be extra careful with that one; that’s the one with the beer!” He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. “Aha! Here we go; it’s the key I got from the Realtor—who I suspect wants publicity, in order to turn this ratrap into a tourist attraction.” Walking over to the front door, he inserted the key, rattling it a bit. “One thing about these old houses, they’re always locked up tight and secure. If they didn’t lock them up, I guarantee you that homeless people and horny teenagers would make their way into them, ghosts or no ghosts.” The door unlocks, and he pushed it open. “Success!”
“You think that’s a good omen?” said Abraham, a little apprehensively, as Jobran stepped forward to enter, before Ted put out his arm to stop him.
“Whoa, bucko; wait just a minute. Let me shine my flashlight in there first.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in spooks,” said
Abraham, mockingly.
“Spooks are bullshit,” said Ted, with conviction, looking around inside as he shone the light. “However, in an old house like this, you might have wild animals that have made this their home, and who will be scared shitless to have some human beings suddenly poking their noses in there. It’s better to give them some warning that we’re here, and give them a chance to hide or get the hell out.”
Then, looking directly at Abraham, “Unless you’d like to have a crazed feral cat
jump on your head, and sink her claws into your face?”
“No thanks.”
Looking satisfied, Ted switched off his flashlight, and said, “Let’s do it.” He then wheeled his bicycle across the threshold, closely followed by Abraham and Jobran, who were carrying the cases Ted brought. Ted put the key in the deadbolt lock from the inside, and closed the door behind them.
Beyond Heaven and Earth Page 58
