The Feet of God

126 - AND YOUR POINT IS?

I sipped my screwdriver and lit a smoke.  It was one of the last, sadly, as I noticed my pack of Marlboros was half empty, or less than half full.

Crespo rambled on and on, on any number of subjects, and he professed a range of expertise in all of ‘em.  None of this held much interest for me.  He concluded the most recent conversational thread by saying, “After all, tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone.”

“No truer words.”

“In other words….”

I always hated hearing them words.  All it meant was they was just get’n started all over again, reloading the same old bullshit.  I stifled a yawn, and felt a headache comin’ on.

“If I found myself somehow alive after death,” Crespo reasoned, “it couldn’t surprise me any more than finding myself alive right now.”  His red eyes glowered.  “It all seems so improbable, doesn’t it?  Why is there anything at all?  It would be so much simpler if there was absolutely nothing.”

“No question about it.”

“But I don’t doubt this world is real.  At least not while I’m living in it.  But what about when I’m dead?  Let’s say for the sake of argument there is life after death, would that prove anything?  It wouldn’t necessarily prove the existence of God, any more than the fact that I exist now proves there is a Deity.”

“That’s a fact.”

“I suppose it’s possible to survive death and still have no evidence of an involved Providence.”  Crespo shot me a glance.  “What if life just goes on and on all by itself?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I wonder if the souls of dead scientists persist in practicing the scientific method wherever they are?  Do they still try to run tests and experiments on whatever stuff is around?”

“I’ve often wondered about that myself.”

“Does personal survival mean we can communicate instantly in some universal language?”

“That’s a good question, definitely.”

“And would we have contact with other life forms now deceased, like a dead paramecium or a bloom of blue-green algae?  Or alien life?”

“Beats me.”

“Personally, I don’t believe there is an eternal spirit or a ghost in the machine.”

“Really?”

“In any case, it doesn’t matter.  We are powerless to change anything.  There either is a God or there is not a God.  And whether there is a God or not, it really doesn’t matter.  Whatever I may think or want or pray for doesn’t make one bit of difference, does it?”

“That’s what I always say.”

“Does positing the existence of God make any difference from the human perspective?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about moral action?  Should a Deity make any difference by holding out the promise of heaven for good behavior, and the threat of hell for dick moves?  That’s making a calculation based on self-interest.  It has little if anything to do with making a true moral choice.  After all, a good man does the right thing without hoping for any reward or fearing any punishment.”

I handed Crespo my glass for a refill, and I lit another smoke.  No telling how long this class would last.

Suddenly he veered off on another tangent, “Who do you love?”

“Everyone tattooed on my shoulder,” I answered.

“Good one,” Crespo laughed.

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