God doesn’t play dice with the universe, but that doesn’t stop people from making side bets
WHEN THEY WERE COLLEGE ROOMMATES, Peter and Paul argued long into the night about sundry metaphysical subjects ranging from solipsism to free will to God’s existence. Provided they’d fueled their discussions with weed and alcohol. In Peter’s case, Jack Daniels with Diet Coke, which Paul thought abhorrent, and Paul with Daniels straight up, which Peter thought was worse than drinking Listerine.
Toss in the brownies Peter’s girlfriend Belinda baked every week and the discussions could last for hours. Other guys from the dorm would drop by to partake, especially when they learned of the latest brownie delivery, and even dragged their girlfriends along. But the stars of the Peter and Paul show remained Peter and Paul, with perhaps twenty percent audience participation.
“So if the soul really transmigrates,” Paul would suggest, “how can we guarantee karma delivers them to the right new body? What if Sanjay’s soul is destined for a rat because he was always narking on his friends, but there’s a cockroach stealing crumbs from the rat’s nest when the soul arrives? Couldn’t his soul inhabit the roach’s egg instead of the rat’s egg?”
Other guys from the dorm would drop by to partake, especially when they learned of the latest brownie delivery, and even dragged their girlfriends along. But the stars of the Peter and Paul show remained Peter and Paul
Peter would toke on a joint of wedding cake he picked up on his last visit home and add, “That means the soul has to target females to inhabit their eggs, but what if the female’s husband was an asshole, and she left to party with friends instead of getting knocked up by the old man. But then she has her period and all the eggs are washed away? Does the soul spend that lifecycle on the edge of a tampon?”
Paul: “How does karma even measure your deeds? Does stepping on a cockroach outweigh making dinner for your wife on a night when she’s sick?”
Peter: “What if there’s karma karma? An eternal battle between good karma and bad karma, and we just get caught in the middle, swept up by our last act on earth simply because we were there when the asteroid stuck.”
However, and all their friends knew this, you should never, ever get them started on God. Those debates turned nasty, which surprised everyone because both were agnostic. But Peter thought God was possible. Paul thought God improbable, and that led to some bitter squabbles.
Like the night before they graduated. Paul, whose career counselors advised him as a freshman that there was a huge demand for graduates in marketing, only to be told as a senior that colleges had flooded the market with marketing students, downed four fingers of Jack Daniels and said, “I pray to God that I won’t have to move back in with my parents.”
And Peter, who’d already earned a place in law school, said, “How can you pray to someone you’re not sure even exists? Seems disingenuous to me.”
However, and all their friends knew this, you should never, ever get them started on God. Those debates turned nasty, which surprised everyone because both were agnostic.
Paul fished the last brownie from the pan, a special brownie with pot sprinkles in the chocolate frosting. “First, it’s just an expression. When you stub your toe and say, ‘Jesus Christ,’ it doesn’t mean you believe he’s there or that he’ll answer, ‘Did you call my name?’ Second, it’s still important to keep your options open. Just in case.”
Peter, realizing the last brownie was gone, splashed Scotch in his glass and filled the rest with Diet Coke. “Don’t play the Pascal card with me. Pascal was a piss poor philosopher. Why would God side with some asshole who’s hedging his bets?”
Paul jabbed a frosting-covered finger at Peter. “See, by postulating God’s thinking, you’re admitting he’s possible.”
Peter slammed the glass on his laptop keyboard, splashing the contents on the keys. In his agitation, he didn’t notice. “Don’t play word games with me. When you put it like that, I changed my mind. God is not only improbable, he’s flat out impossible.”
Paul leaped to his feet. “How can you say God doesn’t exist?”
“It’s easy. I say it in three words. ‘God doesn’t exist.’”
Peter left with Belinda and her empty brownie pans, and Paul realized Peter had spilled Jack Daniels and Coke into his keyboard. Out of spite, he left the mess to soak into the laptop. They refused to speak after graduation, and by the time Peter returned to the room, Paul had already packed and driven away in his Prius.
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