Three to one, p.27
Three To One, page 27
“An attorney? That surprises me.”
“Does it?”
“Well, only because attorneys’ hands are tied. Often times these scumbags get off on technicalities. He’s scarring your daughter for life. Responding through an attorney doesn’t seem adequate. But you know best.”
She stood up to go, walking slowly away from him. What was that material? Not overly clingy but moved nicely with her. Very flattering.
“Shreya?” She paused, and looked back over her shoulder, turning a quarter of the way around, like a model in a spotlight, the warm afternoon glow bringing her figure to life. “I’m about done here. Would you like to join me for an evening snack? We can talk a little more.”
“About Dove?”
“Well, I thought maybe just some general conversation, to get to know each other a little better. We’re going to be working together…”
“I’d love to, Chris.”
The door closed quietly, and he sat there, watching the afternoon fade, as the sky turned from beauty toward darkness. Dove, Lindy, and now Shreya.
“Chris,” he said aloud, “You are one stupid hound.”
October 15
Peregrine had intended to clean his office before Professor Wilkes came to visit again, but it was still cluttered. They were talking in low tones.
“Loretta,” he said, “what was on your mind, at that moment when you ran out into traffic?”
“I don’t know. It was stupid. I’m embarrassed by it.”
“Embarrassment aside, I would like to understand the effect this is having on you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “This isn’t about me, it’s about you.”
“No, I think it is relevant. If I am the first to encounter someone from an alternate reality, it could be that you are the second.”
“Or there could be a hundred others experiencing the same thing, and we are unaware of it.”
“True, I guess, but still - state of mind?”
“As I said, I am embarrassed to admit it, but-”
“What?”
“I wanted to find out if he knew anyone named Loretta Wilkes.”
“Oh, my goodness. I would not have guessed that in one hundred tries. Now it seems obvious, but that is not what I would have expected.”
“You thought I wanted to quiz him about quantum physics? He’s a street kid.”
“True. But- why was that so important?”
“If we can figure out how closely his experience in the other universe mirrors your experience here, we can begin to plot some points of reference, and chart knowns and unknowns.”
“Are you forgetting that he is homeless? How would he know Loretta Wilkes?”
“What if she lives in the next cardboard box over?”
“Woah. That’s a scary thought.”
“When I saw him standing there, a broken, dejected version of you, I was shocked. It seems impossible. How could it ever be?”
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen, eh?”
“That’s not funny, Peregrine. It is frightening. That means that there is a version of events, a series of decisions, that could land you on the street. No. Has landed you on the street, homeless, rather than living out your potential. If that can happen to you, one of the most talented people I’ve ever met, it can happen to anyone.”
“It is a disturbing thought. I keep going over and over it. I feel like God is trying to tell me something.”
“What?” She looked at him with disbelief. “Peregrine, we have enough problems, without you clouding the water by bringing in some make-believe deity.”
Peregrine dropped his chin to his chest. When he looked back up, she was staring at him.
“Loretta, please, not you too. Please don’t give me a hard time about this. All I am saying, is that we live in a universe which shows intelligent design. And within my experience of that universe, some strange things are happening.”
Loretta sighed. “I’m sorry, Peregrine. I just don’t like that kind of talk. There is simply no scientific proof that a god exists.”
“True, there is no proof,” he said. “But pick any discipline which studies the physical universe, microbiology, geology, neurology, you name it, and the evidence of intelligent design is everywhere.”
She looked at him with a look that reminded him of pity.
“At least allow that there is enough evidence to suggest a possibility,” he said.
She looked away.
“Loretta,” he said, “You are talking about a system which contains not one, but multiple universes?” He hoped that by bringing it back to her favorite subject, she might choose to re-engaged in the discussion. But no.
“If such a system exists,” he said, “someone – or something had to design that system.”
She frowned. “Oh my,” she said, looking at her watch. “I had no idea it was getting so late. I was supposed to meet a student. Let’s continue this later, shall we?”
Peregrine nodded and watched her hurry out of his office. Away from this awkward topic. Away from him, so desperately in need of her help. Away from this inconvenient truth.
Crummy. Not a very sophisticated word, but it fit the moment.
Peregrine was walking across campus, knowing he had alienated Loretta, his only ally in this whole mess. Stupid. Why couldn’t he just keep quiet? Why was it his responsibility to be God’s cheerleader? It wasn’t worth the damage it was causing. It was like he could not keep his mouth shut, even when he wanted to. In truth, neither he nor Loretta could ever understand one iota of the universe. Or universes, or whatever it was. He didn’t need all this confrontation. What he needed was a friend, someone he could count on to help him, to give him sound insight, and Loretta was that person. Now she probably wouldn’t even return his calls.
October 16
“Everyone lives a life of faith, Peregrine.”
The young professor looked doubtful. “Everyone?”
“At some level, yes. You have said yourself, that in science, there is more unknown than known.”
“Absolutely. I am becoming more and more aware of how much we don’t understand.”
“And yet, many people believe that one day, the scientific method will provide the answers to everything. But the truth is, science can never provide all the answers.”
“Or at least not for a long time.”
“No, I mean never. You see? With those words, you are professing a faith that science will provide all the answers eventually. But that faith is grounded in a logical fallacy.”
Peregrine looked at him with some doubt.
“Professor let me make an assertion, and you tell me if it is true or false.”
“Okay.”
“Only theories which can be measured and tested are reliable.”
“True.”
“And how would you test that hypothesis?”
Peregrine’s brow furrowed. Father John smiled. “That hypothesis cannot be assessed using the scientific method. It is, in fact, a philosophical statement. A statement of faith.”
“I can’t believe I let you catch me with that. I should have seen it coming. You are the second person to tell me that I would run into that brand of faith among the staff members on campus.”
“I’m not playing the game of ‘gotcha,’ Professor, but I want you to see that believing scientific knowledge is the only reliable type of knowledge, is an unscientific belief. It cannot pass its own litmus test.”
“Okay,” the professor said. “I see that you can stump somebody with that little word snare. But in practical terms, can you name anything in the real world which cannot be understood by applying the scientific method? At lease eventually?”
“Fair question,” Father John said. “Let’s say someone finds a 7,000-year-old scroll.”
“Undermining the ‘young earth theory,’” the Professor pointed out, grinning.
“Exactly,” Father John said. “What can science tell us about that scroll?”
“Many things, obviously. Science can determine with great accuracy, what the scroll is made of, what type of ink was used, what soils and contaminants the scroll has been exposed to, and also the date the scroll was created, within a reasonable margin of error.”
“I agree with all of that.”
“Okay.”
“But can the scientific method reveal whether the poetry written upon the scroll is beautiful? Or profound?”
“Well… no, of course not.”
“And can the scientific method determine whether a sculpture, or a fresco, or a piece of music are beautiful?”
“No.”
“Because these are different types of knowledge. A work of art is judged on many different aspects, including composition, realism, creativity and the technical skill in working with the medium. Would any of those criteria be of any use in determining the validity of a scientific hypothesis?”
“Obviously not.”
“Different types of knowledge require different sets of criteria. And yet, who can deny that knowledge about the creation or enjoyment of art is a legitimate type of knowledge?”
“Okay, where art is concerned, I concede the point. But that is not the same kind of knowledge as scientific knowledge.”
“Exactly my point. Art is not science, and science is not art. Each must be judged by its own set of relevant criteria. Agreed?”
“Well, yes.”
“Why is spirituality any different? Spirituality is as real as art, and as real as the scientific disciplines. But neither the criteria used to assess art, or the criteria used to assess science have any bearing on questions of spirituality.”
“Hm.”
“People of science admit that most of the physical world is yet to be understood. Then they baulk at the idea that there might be other types of knowledge that are also inaccessible to us. They fight against that idea. They deny it, run from it.”
The professor nodded and frowned. “I know people who are doing that.”
“To grow spiritually, one must be intellectually courageous. You must be secure enough to trust your own intellect to guide you. You must be willing to embrace the unknown, and dig deeper, to encounter all the different types of wonder that exist in the universe. To be unwilling to do so, is intellectual cowardice.”
Now the professor was smiling. “My colleagues would pull their hair out if you told them that.”
John smiled. “Atheists often challenge Christians to prove the existence of God, using the scientific method. That is tantamount to challenging Michelangelo to prove that his Pieta’ is ‘correct,’ using the scientific method. You can never prove that an artist expressed his creation in the optimum way. Neither can you ever prove or disprove the existence of things that are spiritual in nature, using the scientific method. In matters of spirituality, the scientific method does not apply. Faith and reason are required.”
The professor looked to be musing.
“Science can never disprove the existence of an intelligent Creator. The very system in which the scientific disciplines operate was set up by the Creator. The reality of matter, of space, the laws of physics, even time, were caused by something other than the things science tests and measures. The intelligence, which was the primary cause of these things, is what we refer to as God. As science drills down deeper and deeper into the apparent randomness of the universe, it is not disproving God. It is only revealing that the Creator set up an amazingly complex system, in which the process of creation continues to evolve and change, across the landscape of time. These lines of study strive to understand what can cause matter to organize into compounds, elements, and eventually creatures, in a seemingly random way. Science may one day reach a full understanding of how it all works. But the causes science studies are secondary causes, a part of the system designed and initiated by the Creator. The Creator is the first cause which brought all those secondary causes into being.”
“It is a different way of describing God, for certain," Peregrine said. "I am going to have to do some research and read more deeply into this way of seeing the universe.”
“Professor,” John said, “You have a piercing intellect. You clearly feel called to look into the teachings of the Church at a deep level. Would you ever consider discerning a vocation to the priesthood? You would follow in the footsteps of many noteworthy scientists if you did.”
Peregrine’s face showed a grimace.
“Father, I am honored that you would ask me, but to be honest, understanding spirituality is not the only strong calling in my life.”
“No?”
“I am feeling called to marry a certain young lady, and to start having kids.”
That evening, Professor Faulk’s head was swirling. There was way too much coming at him. All those things Father John had said, the tension with staff members over his views on creation, the cautionary response from the Ethics Committee, his intense feelings for Dove, not to mention this insanity with the multi-universe stuff. Brooding. He wondered about the etymology of that word. He picked up his phone to look it up. He set it back down. It didn’t matter. He’d do it later. Right now, he knew it meant being immersed in depressing, melancholy thoughts, and that was exactly on the mark. There was a rap at the door, crisp, authoritative.
“Yes?”
The door opened. Two uniformed police officers stepped inside. That was unexpected.
“May I help you?”
“Professor Faulk?”
“Yes? What is this about?”
“Keep your hands where we can see them, Sir. You are under arrest. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. Should you not be able to afford one, an attorney will be provided for you.”
“What?”
“Please stand up, sir, and place your hands behind your back.”
“There must be a misunderstanding.”
“Sir, stand up. Don’t make things any harder on yourself.”
“Excuse me?”
“Stand. Up.” With that, the bigger of the two came around his desk, and clamped onto his arm, practically yanked him out of his chair. His knees hit the desk drawer.
“Hey!”
“Do not resist sir. We’ll get it all sorted out down at the station.”
“Take it easy, OW! Who do you think you are?”
The metal cuffs cut into his wrist in a way that he never understood from watching it on television. The big cop lifted him up on his tiptoes with a single hand in his elbow, the clinch not much different than the steel cuffs on his wrists.
“I demand to know what is going on here.”
“You are under arrest. Do you understand your rights as I’ve expl-”
“Do you understand my righ- OW! Stop that!”
“Sir come along peacefully. Resisting will only make things worse, and they’re bad enough now, believe me.” They started dragging him out, one on each elbow.
“What things? What are you talking about? Hey, let me lock the door. Hey! I need my briefcase. I need my phone! Get my phone!”
“Someone can bring it to you. They won’t let you take it into holding anyway.”
“Holding? Hey, wait, what are the charges?”
“Sir, I’ve been trying to tell you, if you would stop interrupting me. You are under arrest for statutory rape and taking indecent liberties with a minor.”
October 17
“Dr. Stevens, I think it is clear that Professor Faulk is not the type of person we want representing this institution.” Maggie was in Provost Stevens’ office first thing Thursday morning. “Statutory rape? Can you imagine the scandal? The kind of stir that is going to make when word gets out? When the media gets hold of this? This could have a negative impact on enrollment, and therefore, cashflow. Not to mention funding for research.”
“Okay, Maggie. Don’t blow it out of proportion. One young boy who can’t keep it in his pants isn’t going to bring down the whole institution.”
“It isn’t just that. I’m telling you; he is a rebel. He is a closet creationist. He essentially lied to you about his religious convictions. I have it on good authority that he has been meeting secretly with a Catholic Priest.”
Dr. Stevens sighed. “Maggie, don’t go around making wild accusations.”
“I thought you might say that. Here. Feast your eyes on these.”
Dr. Stevens looked at the two 8X10 photos, and then the printer paper with the name of the church. She sighed.
“I understand your concerns. And while this physical evidence does look pretty damning, the photos are not conclusive proof. For all we know, he is conducting some kind of research into the mind of religious zealots. I am still not convinced that he poses much of a threat. Even if what you say turns out to be true, how much influence does he really have?”
“Said the person who found the tiny trickle of water in the wall of a hydroelectric dam.”
“Maggie.”
“Hmmf.”
“Maggie, I will keep my eyes and ears open. I thank you for bringing this to my attention. If I see that there is a pattern which seems counter to our institutional values, I will take further action. Okay?”
“What I am saying,” said the attorney, “is that you cannot have any contact what-so-ever with this young lady.”
“Do you mean that literally?” asked Peregrine.
“As literal as it gets.”
“But she does not see me as a threat. I’m telling you, If I don’t at least call or text her, she’s going to be hurt.”
“Let me make sure you understand the situation you are in,” said the attorney. “You have been accused of a crime. A sex crime. A felony.”
“Wait. Tell me about this felony. What exactly does it say I’m guilty of?”
“Statutory rape occurs when an adult has consensual sexual intercourse with a person who is below the age of legal consent.”
