The Fifty-Fifth Night

 

We were having dinner that last Saturday when Nick, without lifting his eyes from his plate, said:

“Y’know, the other day I was thinking about how life sometimes seems to lead us—not to what we want, but to what we need.”

“Do you feel… guided, then?”

“I don’t know if I’d say guided just yet, but yeah—at least led somewhere.”

“Either way, it sounds as though you’re suggesting that some hand, from outside your life, arranges it for your good.”

Nick paused, his fork suspended halfway to his mouth, and said:

“Oh, no—don’t come at me with that Catholic spiel, man. I’m not even talking about God.”

“When Pier Paolo Pasolini began making films, he came to the conclusion that the director of that great film called ‘life’ was God. Just think: a communist, compelled by the force of logic to accept the existence of God.”

“I don’t know who that guy was, and I’m not here to judge him. But yeah, it does seem like he and I noticed the same thing—and I’ll give you that: it is a fact that we feel guided, or led. But are we, really? And if we are, why does it have to be God? What if it’s the Matrix?”

“Oh, come on…” I said, with a theatrical sigh of dismay.

“But why not? Or maybe it’s extraterrestrials who put us on this planet.”

“The ones who created us in some genetic experiment?”

“Maybe. I don’t rule that out. They put us here—and didn’t just abandon us.”

“I see…”

“So why do you reject these other possibilities so easily?”

“Because I take no pleasure in answers that do not answer—answers that merely sweep the problem further down the road.”

“Everything that exists has a beginning and an end. Everything is subject to time—beginning on one day and ending on another. That includes us, the Matrix, extraterrestrials, whatever else you might imagine. There was a time without them; there may be a time with them; and there will be a time without them. From where did all of them come—and we ourselves?”

“I can see where you’re going with this.”

“Good. Then we can move on. All these possibilities you’ve raised sprang from a human mind that perceived what you perceived and, like you, refused to relinquish its… independence from God. So it devised a number of theories, placing something—anything—in God’s stead. And yet reality continues to cry out that God exists. The universe must have an author, an uncreated origin. That origin is neither an abstract concept, nor an irrational entity, nor a mere mechanical force. We know it is endowed with intelligence because it created a universe whose parts relate to one another in order and hierarchy. How do we know this? We discover these laws and hierarchies, we make use of them—and our applications work. Notice that, up to this point, I have spoken only of things we reach through the natural use of reason; I have not even begun to preach any god.”

“Are you saying I’m irrational if I don’t believe in God?”

“I don’t know who wrote it in one of the Psalms: ‘The fool says in his heart: there is no God.’”

“So I’m irrational—and a fool?”

“What I mean is this: you are contending against God, and there is no overcoming Him. It is possible to lose Him—but never to defeat Him.”

Nick remained out of sorts with me for the rest of the evening.

When we parted, I embraced him and kissed him.

With eyes wide, he asked, “Whoa—what was that?”

“That was proof that I love you. I love you as you are—with what you believe, and what you do not.”

“How could I stay mad at you and not love you?” he replied, returning the kiss before getting into his car and driving away.