31 October 2000

We are the ones we have been waiting for.
— Oraibi, Arizona, Hopi Nation

I went back in time.

I awoke in a semi-darkened room. For a moment, I could not
identify my surroundings and I experienced a feeling of disquiet that
edged on fear. The familiar sound of wind stirring the palm trees just
beyond the limits of my vision triggered the awareness of reality. I
was, then, fully awake. And I was at home.

The room brightened slowly as the sun added luster to the river
outside my door. Sounds of the morning prevailed and brought with them
the knowledge that I had lived through another night, only to wonder how
I would survive another day. I lay still, certain that any movement
would reactivate the pain and yet hopeful, somehow, that the pain had
gone away. Nights had grown to mean escape, release from the entrapment
of the day. This night, as in the many nights that had preceded it,
there had been no dreams.

It would soon be fully day and the people, my friends, would be
coming with their questions, just as they had been coming here since I
had first become an answerer. They would want to know the news of my
journey. I closed my eyes and tried not to remember, tried not to think,
tried not to feel.
The journey had been very difficult. The pain that was always
present in my lower back and legs had been nearly unbearable. It had
increased with each day of travelling and had made sleep nearly
impossible. I should not have gone and would not have gone, but my
friend Arius felt that it was important.

Arius.* His name alone brings memories of happier times, of
youth and laughter and a drive to live. Although Arius is older than I,
he is, in many ways, much younger. He had first come to Thebes when I
was a youth. I had listened to his words and his message had spoken to
my heart. When he went away I became the answerer and that was over two
decades ago, nearly three. A long time, too long. No, I should not have
made this journey, even though Arius had come back to Thebes with his
eyes bright and his love as constant as it had been from the beginning.

Arius had come back to talk with the people. He had come back
to explain to them the things that were happening on the distant side of
the world. There had been pain in him, the pain of disquiet and unrest.
He spoke of peril and dissent. His words had seemed incredible to most
of us, although there had been rumors from time to time, brought to us
by the merchants.

I sat up, slowly. The pain returned. It was good to be home,
good to be in familiar surroundings. Good to feel the heat of the sun
and the wind and the sand, good to be joined again with the azure
peacefulness that is the Nile. The palms continued to stir gently as
though whispering reassurance. "I am glad to be home," I sighed, "It is
good to be at home." The pain eased, lulled for the moment by the
contentment experienced in familiar surroundings.

The Council had met for many days and each was longer than the
last. After the long journey I had believed I would find rest in meeting
with other answerers. But when I asked after Arius, I had learned that
he would not be present. It was believed that there were five of us from
Egypt, possibly more. I wondered if the others from my country were
feeling his absence. I was incomplete and, to a degree, lost.

There had been talks, hours of talks, and much of what was said
had been incomprehensible to me at first. The talks continued until the
tapers gave no more light, until darkness settled around us. Each day
was the same but not the same. The tone changed, fluctuated. An aura of
hostility appeared, disappeared and then reappeared. Friends argued and
were no longer friends, enemies became friends.

I shuddered, remembering. I should not have gone.

My time had passed. There had been, as yet, no young answerer
who had come along to take my place. There had been no signs of interest
among the people as to leadership, not as yet. I believed that the
people wanted and needed their answerer, and perhaps someone would come
forth just as I had, on that long ago day, when our old answerer had
died. Arius would know what to do, if only he were here. But that was
impossible. Impossible!

I shook my head and felt the vague sting that signifies tears
in my eyes and in my heart. It was difficult to move, even across the
room to the door, just as it had been difficult to move in the Council
room with its rows of long tables and ceaseless conversation. I had
tried to count the number of answerers there one day, and had to stop
shortly after counting one hundred. The dimness that lives in my eyes
would not permit a counting of the rest.

There had been so many things to hear, so many people talking,
saying things that I had never needed to question and which no answerer
could explain. No explanation was necessary. I had wondered at the
questions and even from the start had sensed stirrings from inside of me
that I had never felt before. I am an answerer. The others are
answerers. There is no need for these questions, as the answers are
known within me, within each of us. At first I had spoken with some of
the others and I had asked them why they were questioning. They had
looked at me in the strange way that foreigners look. "Why do you
question?" I had asked, "Do you not feel the answers within? Why is
there wondering?" They had shaken their heads, and they had walked away
and, finally, I stopped asking.
As the days passed, tension mounted. Anger was exchanged openly
among the answerers. I had never seen anger in an answerer before and I
had felt fear. I wished I had not made this journey and I longer for
the solace of Arius.

I watched the many whispered conferences and the fear in me
grew. Slowly I realized that the answers that were being accepted here
were not the right answers. The questions were wrong, yes, but once
asked they had to be answered. The Council had so decreed. But the
answers were wrong, very wrong. I could not understand why the others
did not know this. I could not understand why, one by one, they seemed
to accept this decision and keep silent. The opposing sides seemed
gradually to merge together, forming a mass of acceptance of which I
could never be a part. I held on to hope for as long as I could and felt
the fears grow beyond description as I let go of hope. These things
were wrong.

Nearly at the end, fatigued from the pain what was a part of me
always, eyes dimmed by the smoking tapers and the many people in the
room, I had risen to state my beliefs and there had been silence, even
from those I considered to be friends. The foreboding silence screamed
of danger and peril, both before and after I spoke. Arius had indeed
been correct. There was a threat here such as I had never known, even in
my three decades as the answerer. The threat was isolation, loneliness.
That evening, as I lay fitfully in my room, wishing to be back
where the Nile weaves forever they came to visit me. There were six in
all, and they were of the group that call themselves ‘Episkopos.’ I had
difficulty rising to meet them, the pain was fierce and it had traveled
to my heart.

One of them spoke. "Dear friend," he said, in the customary
greeting (and I wondered why he called me friend when he knew that I was
not his friend) "We have come to counsel and to consider. Please
understand that what we say is meant to help you in this difficult
time."
I did not hear all of what they said. There were times when all
of them had talked at once and what I heard was like the buzzing of the
bees in the warmth of the spring. They smiled with their lips and
threatened with their eyes. They talked of Constantine and of battles
waged and won under the shield of Jesus. "Surely," they said, "It is God
who wins these battles. Therefore if Constantine decrees that Jesus is
God, it is because God wishes it so. Would you go against God?"

I did not answer. I thought of Arius, and of the messages he
had brought, and of the years of questions I had answered through that
same message. These things were not necessary. It did not matter at all.
The Christ had brought the message, and it had not included Constantine
or battles fought beneath the banner of the church.

Even as I thought of Arius, the Episkopos spoke of him. "He is
banished," one of them said, "Constantine has so decreed. He can never
again return for his answers are impure and not as we would have them.
He is in exile and you will never see him again. Arius is a fortunate
man. If Constantine had not fought beneath the banner of Christ, Arius
would have been executed for his answers."

Fury rose within me and I had great difficulty repressing it.
Age and the pain eased it to some extent. When I did speak it was only
to ask the question and, even then, to know ahead of time what the
answer would be.

"What kind of message is this?" I asked, "That would banish an
answerer from his people, separate him from his beloved friends, exile
him from the home of his manhood? What kind of message does battle in
the name of the Christ whose message speaks of love? Who answers in this
way, with the anger of questions that have no answers? What is it that
you fear?"
They did not answer. They stood quietly for a moment and then
they turned as one person and they walked away. One of them came back
and in his eyes were the dark coals of slumbering hatred.

"Those who
follow Arius," he said, "Will also be exiled."

I had tried to sleep then, that last night in Nicaea, this time
believing that possibly I would not have to rise again. The buzzing in
my head had become a roar and I finally slept. That night I dreamed a
thousand dreams that had no end. Morning came too soon. I was one of the
last to enter the Council chamber and I could hardly bear to sit.

Most of the night I had struggled with what my response would
be. I saw Arius in my dreams, exiled into a cold and dark place, alone. I
thought about my own exile and dreamed again of a place that held no
light and had no walls; dreams changed to nightmares and I woke
screaming. I could not face exile! I knew myself to be too weak. And so I
entered the Council chamber knowing that I would agree to this
pronouncement, even though I knew it to be wrong. Arius would
understand. In many, many ways he was much younger than I.

The vote was taken in the Roman way, with "ayes." There were no
"nays." There was not even the vaguest sigh of a "nay." I considered
the possibility that Constantine is greater, even, than God. But knowing
my own decision and the reasons for it, I decided that there were
probably other decisions with other reasons. Reasons which were a part
of each answerer and which were unknown to me.

Perhaps they too know
fear.

Throughout the voyage home physical pain blended with emotional
pain. Many times I believed I would not be able to pass another hour,
even take another step and I had hoped for the end. Asking God for the
blessed mercy of death, I knew that it was not the pain from which I
needed to be free, not the physical pain, but the black pit of
compromise. I had sold my own heart in exchange for the home in which my
body could die.

Today is the morning of the sixth day since my return. The
people are coming, as they do always on the sixth day. I can hear them
outside and it is time to tell them, but it is not the time to answer.
For the first time I cannot answer. For the first time I will not be
able to answer their questions.
I go slowly through the door. Although the sun is bright I see
dimly through my tears. They greet me with cries of welcome and call for
the story of my journey and of the great Council. But first, they want
news of Arius.

I speak, but the buzzing in my head is intense and it is
difficult to hear my own words. I love them and they feel my love. And
somehow, inside of them, without having to ask the question, they know
that today I will be unable to answer, to satisfy their wonderings. They
are silent. I feel their love and it warms me.

"Dearly beloved," I begin, "It is nearly three hundred years
since the Christ died and in that time there have been many questions
and many answerings…"

The bees in my head make it impossible to think. I hesitate in
direction. From the crowd there comes the cry, "What news is there of
Arius?" They wait, expectantly.

I began again. "Some of the wonderings that are not questions
have caused alarm with the church and the Council met to answer them.
These wonderings are not new to the church in Thebes, for we have always
known the answer as brought forth by the Christ. Three hundred years is
a very long time, and the message does not seem as clear for others as
it does for us…"

They were silent. My head ached, weighted as with the stones of
the pyramids. I could feel Arius there with us, silent and strong, and I
knew that what I would say would be right and that another answerer was
even then preparing to follow behind me.

"Constantine the Great, along with the Council called to
Nicaea, has given answers to some of the wonderings that should not be
questions. Because of the answers, Arius if in exile, never to return…"
Tears blinded me. The pain in my back and legs went away,
replaced by the pain in my heart and in my head. My arms felt heavy, my
hands numb with cold in the dry heat of the morning. I looked for the
sun and realized that it had dimmed considerably. Some of the murmur of
the people reached my ears, but it was vague and distant. I choked on
the words that I both wanted and needed to say, choked as I began to
explain that I too had been a part of that decision. My legs gave way.
I saw a figure break from the crowd and come forward, placing a
strong arm around my waist and helping to support me. I felt within me
that here was the answerer, come forward as needed, even as I had gone
forward years before.

His voice was soft and gentle, yet, he spoke with quiet
authority, I could see that he was as I had been, and that his life was
young and that this was to be his way.

"Beloved Karras, rest now. The journey has been long and
painful for you. It is good to have you home again!" His words were
gentle on my mind, soothing, blending with the whispered qualities of
the breeze high among the palms. "I can see that you are troubled. It is
a long time since there has been trouble, but we must not forget that
trouble brings peace, just as in the time of Jesus. Beloved Karras, with
the message comes knowledge of the meaning of the words ‘I am with you
always, even until the end of time.’ God is present now, just as He
always has been, and the answer that troubles you is the answer of men
and not of the message. It will change, again and again, until it is the
right answer, even as we know that our answer is what it must and
always will be."

His words brought me strength I had not felt for a very long
time. He was like Jesus and he was like Arius: gentle but strong, honest
but loving, a leader chosen to follow.

The beehive in my head quieted and I lay there on the ground,
knowing that my world was filled with peace and with love. I had come
home to die, had given Arius exile because of my own fear of being
alone, away from my people.

"It is time," I said, as the sun faded to night and the
whisperings of the palms became crescendos and the Nile rose up to meet
me.

"He is gone," the young answerer said, "So shall it be. For the
answer to the wondering that should not have been a question could not
be a part of his reality. All in time, in time. What possible difference
can it make?"
I returned to my own time, seventeen hundred years later. I
felt the spirit of Karras as peaceful. I sighed, and woke to the reality
of a friend watching me closely. I was at the office and it was midday.
Just for a moment, the rays of the sun were red.

"Daydreaming again?" she asked quietly, her eyes full of humor.
"You have been staring out that window, ignoring telephone and
typewriter for at least ten minutes now!"

I smiled my ‘guilty’ smile and mentioned that it had been a
very long journey and that, for some reason, I felt tired. Because she
is my friend, I did not need to explain why.

"I want you to know," I thought to the voice in my head, "That
it made one whale of a difference!" "I do know," said the voice in my
head, and it was filled with the love that whispers like the wind in the
palms, "I do know."

* Arius taught that Christ was not God, but a creation of God, half human
and half Divine, like the demigods of pagan Rome. Had Arius prevailed at
the council of Nicaea, Christianity might have died as one cult among
many. But Christianity existed for 300 years before Arius, and before
even the notion of the Trinity. The first Christians did not ask in
pagan, mystical-philosophical terms who Christ was. They simply knew. - Scooper

30 October 2000

I nominate Dragnet's philosophy for the basis of
moral public policy. You remember..."Just the facts, ma'am," as Joe
Friday used to say. Because manipulation of the facts, from distortion
to disregard, seems to be the hallmark of the anti-abortion and the
anti-anti-abortion parties to our still to be resolved national debate,
beginning with the names they choose for themselves: "Pro-Life" and
"Pro-Choice." To which I say bullshit. Neither side is as much pro-
anything as they are anti-each other.

That was fact one. Here is fact two: It has yet to be established objectively that an early-term embryo is a person,
"endowed by his Creator with certain inalienable rights, among these
being the right to life" to quote the US Declaration of Independence.
Rather than explore the deep philosophical issues in this short space, I
simply acknowledge the widespread and bitter disagreement on this
point. I pause to note, however, that except for abortion, we refrain
from acting if there is some chance that a person might be harmed. Even
though we don't know for sure that an embryo is not a person, we go ahead.
Fact three: It is obvious, on the other hand, that an early-term embryo is, biologically, a living human being.
We know it is alive because it grows, it moves, and it responds to
stimuli. We know it is a distinct being apart from its mother because,
if you wait long enough, it borrows her car keys and reproduces. And we
know it is human because it carries the human genome.

Fact four: The main reason anyone chooses to have an abortion is to kill a living embryonic human being before it becomes undeniably a person
(which otherwise it would rapidly do) with legal claims to support,
nurturance, and protection — and a moral claim to our love. In other
words, getting or performing an abortion must lie on a continuum of evil
with murdering a child at one end.

Now if a Pro-Choicer can't go this far with me, I maintain that
he or she lacks the courage to face and name the facts squarely,
regardless of what the opposition might make of them. Such Pro-Choicers
preclude the development of national consensus on abortion, because
their opponents know that it is foolhardy to negotiate with liars.

On the other hand, if the Pro-Life people try to base public
discourse on stronger statements, they must admit that they are going
beyond what can be universally agreed on as fact. Otherwise they also
preclude development of a national consensus on abortion, but in a more
insidious way. As the noted Christian, C. S. Lewis, said in The Problem of Pain (Collier Books, New York, 1962, p 64),

Even a good emotion, pity, if not controlled by
charity and justice, leads through anger to cruelty. Most atrocities are
stimulated by accounts of the enemy's atrocities; and pity for the
oppressed classes, when separated from the moral law as a whole, leads
by a very natural process to the unremitting brutalities of a reign of
terror.

Given the violence that some Pro-Lifers encourage and others
commit, it is reasonable to conclude that many Pro-Lifers don't want
consensus — they want to win. They are more interested in getting their
way than in examining the consequences, and their opponents know that it
is foolhardy to negotiate with bullies.

But the cruelty of the Pro-Lifers is more subtle than bombing a
clinic, or assassinating a doctor. They want to limit the creation of
what they see as dead babies by banning abortion, a public policy that
will lead to the creation of dead women, instead. Now they may argue
that the dead babies were helpless and innocent, while the dead women
will have been guilty of disobeying the law by having illegal abortions —
i.e., that the dead women will have made a bad choice and gotten what
they deserved. And that's cruel — it is substituting one class of dead
body for another. True, there will be fewer dead women under an abortion
ban, than there are dead babies without one, which some may claim is
the greatest good for the greatest number. But they should remember
Caiaphas' line, "It is expedient that one man should die, rather than
the whole nation should perish," spoken as he proposed the execution of
Jesus Christ.

We as a society won't win by substituting one evil (dead women)
for another (legal abortion). We'll win by reducing the incidence of
both. And that can't be achieved while we continue to make abortion a
political power struggle — an issue over which one group tries to force
its will on another by garnering a majority of votes.

We need to let abortion die as a political issue, and to
resurrect it as a moral and social issue. Leave the coercion aside,
brothers and sisters on the right, and I think you will find common
ground with our brothers and sisters on the left. We all know that there
is no sharp line dividing abortion from murder — there is a gray zone,
into which any of us should shudder to step. For example, although some
of us are comfortable with the idea of abortion nine days into a
pregnancy, all of us would convict a woman and her doctor of murder for
an abortion done at nine months. Perhaps we can reach a consensus that permits early abortions, but prohibits abortions after 20 weeks (five months) except for conditions that could permanently damage the health of the pregnant woman.

This is an issue for which we need to put aside the blunt
instrument of the law. We need to have thoughtful public consideration
of good and evil, rather than a political power struggle. We need
publicly to consider the responsibility that comes with our freedom, and
of how the failure of some to be responsible in their sexual and
reproductive behavior undermines the freedom of us all. And for those
who are considering having an abortion, we need more ministry and less
moralizing. We need either to help them shoulder the responsibility of
caring for their soon-to-be-born children, or to have the decency to do
as we expect of our government — to let people make their choices, while
we refrain from mandating what we are unwilling to support.

Us

I'm a Christian and a retired weapons scientist, vocations which have sensitized me to some of the ways in which the world is dangerously insane. So, on 4 July 1996 I founded the Virtual Church of the Blind Chihuahua, which is moving to this blog.