by Ken Hansen
Just take a look at her—do not believe
The Word begot from altar writers past.
“Just take a look at her” was likely referring to Mary, who was depicted everywhere at the Church of the Annunciation. The rest of the two lines, “do not believe/The Word begot from altar writers past,” seemed to be referring to the lines on the altar in the grotto of the Church of the Annunciation. He looked at his notes and saw the Latin reference to the opening of John’s gospel and the Annunciation itself: “Here The Word Was Made Flesh.” So the poem commanded him not to believe this.
The third line of the poem brought him to a full stop: “We do believe, but just the simple Truth.” It seemed the “we” of the poem believed at least in Jesus, and so were Christians, but they contested the specific words of the altar because they believed in the “simple Truth.” Did this mean they disputed the place of the Annunciation, the word “Here” on the altar, even though they believed in the Annunciation itself? So “The Word Was Made Flesh,” but not “Here?” He had researched this possibility and found that just such a dispute had remained alive in Christianity. Catholics believed Mary had been visited by the Archangel Gabriel in her home, which was now the location of the Catholic Church of the Annunciation. The Orthodox Church believed the visit had occurred while she was drawing water from a well, and so their own Church of the Annunciation had been built there. But while that might be a truth, why was it a “simple Truth?” And how would the Orthodox Church, as stated in the fourth line, “pray within the Bawd?”
Chapter 31
Anwari took a seat in the café across from the station. From this spot he could watch the flurry of activity as trains arrived and departed and travelers scurried in and out of the main station entrance. He ran his thumb over the trigger on the remote control device in his pocket. The main switch was off, so there was little danger he would set off the explosive too early. He had to settle down and wait. But the waiting gave him time to think, which lately had troubled him.
Anwari had been surprised when Huxley discovered a connection to Dante Tocelli in Florence. Nevertheless, the man still did not get it. Though Huxley had proven to be quite clever, Pardus still kept outfoxing him. This latest touch would confuse matters plenty. And it would not be long before Pardus would help Anwari obtain a measure of revenge on the Americans. Revenge against Americans—a year ago, Anwari had never imagined he would feel that way…
He was angry and disillusioned from the disaster with his brother’s family, but it had only made him want to quit the army, get away from the two-faced Americans, and go find a place to hide. Then Karim, staring at him with that one haunting eye, screamed the demand that still echoed in his brain. Anwari had paused and looked away in a moment of guilt but then tried to settle Karim down, whispering, “Be quiet, they will arrest you for such nonsense.” And then Karim had become quiet, too quiet. But the peace had been achieved not through acceptance but defeat. The damaged artery in his brother’s brain had burst and delivered him into Allah’s arms at last…
Returning to his seat, Huxley smiled at the two men still sitting in his booth. The older man, who looked old enough to be retired for quite a few years, smiled back through his short white beard and stood up, offering his forward-facing seat to Huxley to help with any nausea the rear-facing seat might have caused him. Huxley politely thanked the man, informed him he was not ill, and took his own seat. The man’s travelling partner was twentyish—seemingly a bit too young to be the older man’s son, though the two men seemed close, having employed both easy conversation and comfortable silences during the trip.
Huxley put his head against the window and thought he might drift off to sleep, but the conversation from the two men began to pique his interest. He listened with his eyes shut.
“I am so happy we were able to see the Vatican,” declared the old man with a tone of true joy. “Could you believe the size of St. Peter’s Basilica or the beauty of the Sistine Chapel? Where else could you find such magnificence?”
“Magnificence?” the boy said. “A magnificent waste of money that could have been used to help feed the poor. The Vatican is one of the last vestiges of a time when society threw away huge sums of money to prop up a myth that has long run its course.”
The old man said nothing for a full twenty seconds. Huxley could hear him swallow hard before he spoke in a calm voice, “David, I cannot believe that is your true opinion. You are exploring your boundaries, are you not? A myth? Are you suggesting there is no God?”
The young man, David, cleared his throat but failed to loosen his larynx. “Yes. Look Father, I know I will never convince you, but do not expect me to believe. I have had years of biology and chemistry and physics at the university. I have studied the Big Bang and evolution and genetics. Man was not created in the Garden of Eden, the universe is not 7000 years old but over 13 billion years, and the Earth itself is over four billion years old. I just do not see how God enters into the picture. I am sorry.”
Pretty smart kid, thought Huxley.
“These two are not mutually exclusive,” the old man said.
“What do you mean?” asked David.
“Let us suppose there was a Big Bang and evolution as well. Do you think God might have had a hand in it?”
“I don’t believe evolution requires intelligent design, Father.”
Exactly, thought Huxley.
“Perhaps not, but let me ask you this: what came before the Big Bang?” the old man asked.
“It is impossible to know,” David said, “but it may be the case that we have had many Big Bangs repeated over and over again as the universe expands and contracts over tens of billions of years.”
The old man paused again, and then asked, “Okay, so let us take your supposition as fact for the moment. Still, what came before the first Big Bang?”
“Nothingness, I suppose,” David said.
“Then what created the energy and matter from out of this nothingness?”
“I don’t know. Nobody does. Maybe the energy and matter have always existed. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because it is clear there was no Eden, no Adam, and no Eve. The story is a myth. Science contradicts the teachings of the Church.”
The old man sounded sad. “There you are wrong, David. The Roman Catholic Church learned its lesson about science long ago after suppressing Galileo and others and refusing to believe the Earth revolved around the sun instead of the other way around. We learned to focus on the spiritual and leave explanations of natural science to those who study it. The papacy has clearly stated that both the Big Bang and evolution are possible physical manifestations of God’s creation. The Church takes no position on the scientific theories themselves.”
“But they contradict Genesis!”
The old man said calmly, “Only if you read Genesis literally, but we do not. We see Genesis as a series of morality plays intended to teach humans about our inherent sin and how to distinguish right from wrong. Does it surprise you that God would do that? Does it surprise you that He would help us understand the struggle humans face as a species because we so often choose to separate ourselves from Him and His goodness? Does it surprise you that He would put a story of creation in the simplest terms that could possibly be understood by people of that time? No, David, read it for what it is: a reminder of how each of us as a human will always be imperfect and perhaps all too willing to allow evil into our lives when it suits our Earthly purposes. We follow Jesus and his teachings to overcome those failings of our species, but we can never be perfect. That is one of the great beauties of Jesus: he made it possible for our sins to be forgiven.”
“It seems to me like you are rationalizing a clear conflict between the Old Testament and science through some smoke and mirrors by believing some biblical texts verbatim while ignoring others. Anyone can play those games. If there is a God, prove it to me.”
Nice touch, Huxley thought.
The old man laughed. “You’ve got me the
re. Belief in God is a matter of faith. I cannot prove it conclusively to you with any fancy philosophical or scientific argument.”
“Ha!” chortled the young man, David. “Then you must agree I am right.”
“No, I simply ask you this in return: can you prove that God does not exist?”
David stared at his shoes. “Uh, I don’t know.”
“Well, let me cut to the chase for you. Nobody can conclusively prove whether God exists or not. It is a matter of faith. All the science in the world cannot prove this one way or another and I doubt it ever will. Oh, it can show some of our more primitive beliefs about God affecting the world around us are really the result of natural phenomenon and logical causes and effects, but this does not disprove the existence of God. Nor have the great philosophers offered any convincing proof. In fact, perhaps you have read works of the famous 18th century German philosopher, Immanuel Kant?”
David shook his head.
“My goodness,” the old man continued, “Kant’s writing still makes my head spin. He was quite critical of religion in many aspects and certainly was not a favorite of the Church, mind you, but he set out to prove or disprove the existence of God and ultimately concluded it was impossible to do either. He managed to effectively disprove many of the extant spurious proofs of God’s existence that had been asserted before him, and that surprised a few religious folks back then, but it bothers few today. Proof is unnecessary. Belief in God is a matter of faith. And I fully agree it can neither be proven nor disproven.”
“When a scientific theory cannot be proven or disproven, it is discarded. So why should I believe in God if nobody can prove He exists?”
“I challenge your assumption, David. The scientific method does not require a theory to be discarded if it has not been proven conclusively. If it fits the available facts, then it may continue until disproven. I ask you to give God the same respect.”
This was too much for Huxley. He spoke as calmly as he could, although his insides were boiling, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear you. Could I bother you to butt into your conversation?”
“Please do,” answered the old man.
“Is your God all-powerful?”
“I believe so.”
“Does your God love all humans?” Huxley asked.
“Yes.”
Huxley stared at the old man. “How can that be when He allows a beautiful human being to shrivel into an eggplant?”
“Excuse me?” the old man asked.
“Have you ever seen someone who suffers from the later stages of dementia? They waste away until they are virtually unrecognizable. Their personality changes. They become something else. They drool and snot runs out of their noses. They cannot control their bowels or bladders, and they don’t even know it. They lose their human dignity. They suffer and those around them suffer. But worse yet, those who love them most cannot speak with them in any meaningful way. A son becomes a stranger to his own mother while watching her wither away to nothing. A stranger would never know they were once smart and proud and good. You tell me your God loves humans, but what kind of god could let that happen to a person he loved? I’m not saying your God caused it, but only that He must have let it happen if He exists. Why? Is He sadistic? Does He think we are worthless? Are we nothing more than rats in His grand experiment, kept fed when it suits Him and dying while He is busy working on some other plan on some other planet in this vast universe of trillions of stars? No, I don’t believe a god who loves us would act in such a way. It is just one person’s DNA suffering from a latent defect that finally manifested itself because of an environment corrupted by years of grief. There is no God, sir, and there is your proof.”
David looked with terrified eyes at Huxley, but the old man leaned in toward Huxley and spoke softly, with eyes heavy and full of empathy. “I am so sorry for your loss, sir. I am sure it was quite difficult for you.”
A strange warmth washed over Huxley’s body and the tension seemed to flow out of his muscles. Not the response I had anticipated. This was an argument, not a wake, though the man’s words were soothing somehow. This had become too personal. He’d forgotten his maxim of never arguing about religion or politics. He drew back. “Forgive me, I should not have inserted myself into your conversation. Please, accept my apologies.”
The old man smiled. “No apology necessary. In fact, I prefer that you help us with this debate. Anything you might add could hit the ears of my nephew from another source when I am not present, and I would have no ability to respond. I would like him to hear both sides now.”
Huxley nodded and leaned forward, somehow drawn to the old man. Then something the old man had said struck him as odd. “You said your nephew?”
The old man nodded.
“But he calls you father.” Huxley said. “Unless…uh…are you a priest?”
“I am,” the old man said as he nodded gently. “I have repeatedly asked David to call me ‘Uncle,’ but his mother, my sister, always emphasized my priestly title.”
“Your sister? Is she travelling with you?”
David intervened, “She died earlier this year after a long battle with ALS. In the end, her body pretty much shriveled up, as you said, though her mind remained with her nearly to the end.”
“I’m so sorry,” Huxley said. “I meant no disrespect.”
The old priest nodded. “Thank you. How could you know? David and I were quite close to her. Unfortunately, it seems we tend to see the ugliness of disease more closely in those whom we love the most. Now, if I could, I would like to address the point you made, if you are up to it.”
“Please.”
“Then I will answer your question with a question: how do you know God did not intervene in your case? I know it seemed miserable to you, but we are not competent to understand God’s plans for us. He does not think as we humans do. I cannot tell you what might have happened here, but even with my human weakness I could construct a scenario where a kind and loving God might allow a loved one to live a while longer despite a debilitating illness. Were you able to spend time with her during this last stage?”
“Yes,” Huxley said softly.
The old priest leaned forward and nearly whispered to Huxley, “Then perhaps God was helping you. Can you really know what your mother understood or thought when she was with you? I don’t mean in the failing parts of her brain, though no doubt the chemistry was playing tricks on her, but in her heart, in her soul, if you will. You must have loved her very much, and I do not doubt she always loved you. And who knows if He intervened to call her to Heaven well before the disease would have run its natural course.”
Huxley swallowed and looked at his lap and saw his left hand on his pocket. Stop rubbing the damn thing! His hand pulled away, but then his gut pinched again, so he put his hand back on top of the crucifix. “Thank you for that,” he said to the priest weakly. After a few moments, strength returned to his voice. “I do not wish to argue with you, but I still cannot believe.”
“Why is that?”
“Perhaps I, too, have been converted by science. I understand your response to the Big Bang and evolution. Still, it just doesn’t ring true to my ears. I think man often accepts a mystical answer whenever science has not advanced far enough to give a complete explanation. But I believe at some point our greatest scientific minds will find the answer, a natural answer.”
“I find that amusing. You challenge faith in God by giving your faith to future science?”
“I do. And though I realize it is not a perfect proof that God does not exist, all of the evidence keeps showing that the universe and life itself are explainable without any deities. How everything started may elude us, but perhaps we simply do not understand space-time well enough yet.”
The old priest sat back in his chair. “You seem to see human knowledge as ultimately limitless.”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Indeed. Do you have a dog?”
“No,” Huxley sa
id. “I had a little black and white one as a child. He was always begging food and licking my face. He was a joy. Why?”
“Did you teach the dog tricks—sitting, shaking his paw, rolling over, that sort of thing?”
“A few of them.”
“And did the dog seem to figure out how to let you know when it needed to go outside to relieve itself?”
Huxley tilted his head and squinted. “Sure, he would stand at the door and bark.”
“Did your dog ever read the New York Times?”
“What?”
“Do you know any dog that could do that?”
“Of course not,” Huxley said.
“Do you think you could teach a dog to do that?”
“No, the structure of their brain is such that they cannot comprehend reading. That requires a level of complexity and abstraction that is not available to their brains.”
The old priest smiled. “I see. Now, has any human ever really understood either the ultimate nature of God or the ultimate creation of the universe—not just the last Big Bang, mind you, but the actual creation?”
“Not really, but…”
“But what?”
“But that doesn’t mean we couldn’t,” Huxley said.
“True, but like the dog, we don’t know whether we ever will. We don’t know whether our brains will ever have the ability to comprehend concepts that may be, as you put it, too abstract or too complex for our brain structures. Don’t you think it is awfully arrogant of humans to believe they are so well evolved that they will figure everything out? By your own definition, we are animals like the dog, and the dog has limitations. Why do you believe humans have no such limitations? Could it not be that grasping the nature of God or the beginning of all things is simply beyond our ability to reason?”
Huxley shook his head. “Time has shown that we can figure out answers with the scientific method.”
