Maggie's beautiful world
An Allegory for Atheists
By Gren Blackall
Copyright by Gren Blackall 2000
This free ebook may be use for non-commercial use, including copying and sharing provided it appears in its entirety, without alteration, with recognition for the author, and the reader is not charged to access it. Commercial uses must be approved by the author.
Cover design by Whitaker Blackall. https://www.flickr.com/photos/whitaker/
Also by Gren Blackall
Contact the author (generous compliments and scathing criticisms all welcome):
[email protected] ONE
Maggie combed the grass with her fingers to pull aside acorns and stones. She cleared a place to lie back under the ancient oak. The tree spread twenty feet in every direction. Spots of blue sky danced through fleeting holes in the thick canopy. Awe spread over her body like a rain of needles.
"Could you exist without God?" she asked the tree. A strong breeze whipped the lush leaves, waving the thin sprigs, rocking the outer limbs, but barely moving the heavy branches. The trunk stood firm, as calmly as a mountain. She wanted to believe a benevolent God looked down upon her, happy with his creations. Someone without whom the beautiful tree would not be. Someone outside the world who cared for her well being.
She looked deep into her heart. She found a tight tangle of words, collected over years of sermons, parental guidance, teachers. All compelling her to believe. But under the matted web, God was not there.
"If God doesn't exist, can it still be a beautiful world?" she asked. Just then, a bird lighted on a low hanging branch and screeched a warning. His nest lay hidden midst the oak labyrinth. Maggie studied his frantic display. Some may have taken this as a messenger from God, answering her lofty question with a resounding, "No!"
Maggie smiled. The bird reminded her of herself. He stood so firmly on the pedestal, instinct and passion spewing forth in protection of his family. She would have done the same thing coming home to find a stranger in her living room. No, this wasn't a message from God, she thought. This was a message from a bird. A beautiful bird from a beautiful world.
TWO
Joan and Maggie trundled along Fifth Avenue near the Empire State Building, each balancing a tower of brightly colored boxes. Joan bought a new dress and a hat which she really didn't need. Brilliant colors, pleasing designs, and exquisitely delicate fabrics, lured her like sweet siren songs.
Maggie's pile of new books weighed heavily in her arms. She'd hardly dented the small library of books she bought just a month before. But the bookstore could not be denied. She stood among the forest of tall shelves, with fresh smooth book covers peeking out in a mosaic of colors. The feel of their shiny surfaces, the crack of opening them for the first time, the wonderful smell of fresh ink on new bond paper. Each one sounding so interesting, so enlightening.
A man stepped in front of them. "Good afternoon, ladies! How would you like to see one of the greatest wonders of all time?"
The man looked nice enough, with a well tailored suit and a clever glint in his eye. They spotted a nearby bench and decided to take a deserved rest. They lowered their packages and wrung out their arms.
Joan stepped up first. "We're not buying anything, if that's what you want."
"Oh no, Miss, I am just so excited about this discovery, that I can't help telling people."
Maggie plopped down on the bench and pulled off a shoe to wiggle her toes. "What?" they said in skeptical unison.
"Behold this," he said, ushering their eyes toward a metal pole, about the size of a broom stick, standing upright, stuck firmly into a cement base.
Joan stood and approached. "What about it?"
"Look closely," he said, his eyes disappearing behind smile lines.
Joan leaned closer to see a quarter, a standard issue twenty five cent piece, perfectly placed on top of the pole. "Humm. Ok."
With the smugness of a King, he announced, "That quarter was thrown from the top of the Empire State Building, and landed right there."
"No way," Joan pulled back. "Can't be."
"I have proof," he said, not changing a muscle on his face. He furnished a leather portfolio, thick with papers and photographs. "Look all you wish."
Joan returned to Maggie on the bench, and paged through the convincing array of documents. Photographs from many angles; testimonials from hundreds of respectable personalities; accounts from people who'd been there and seen the event. "Pretty compelling," Joan finally announced, closing the bulging package.
"Yes it is. It really did happen. No human has touched this quarter since it left the roof."
"Wow," Joan sighed. "It's a good thing it landed on the pole, it could have killed someone," she laughed.
"Actually, the pole and the base were around back in an empty ally when it happened. We've moved it here to show people. Very carefully so the quarter didn't budge even an eyelash's width."
"You don't get out much," Maggie swiped from her kicked back pose.
"Now tell me young ladies, you have to agree that the chances of this happening are rather small, no? A quarter falling over 100 floors and landing exactly on top of this pole?"
"Yes," Joan admitted.
"In fact, so small that it would be nearly impossible?"
"Yes, I supposed," Joan said, avoiding his gaze.
"Yes is right. In fact, I can say, without much argument, that it IS impossible. There is such a tiny, infinitely small possibility that this happened by itself, that it is safe to say, it didn't. It could not have happened without help. Divine help."
Maggie watched while toying with her earring. The man continued, "And this proves, with an infinitesimal margin of error that God exists."
Joan turned to Maggie. "He's got a point, Mag. Think about it. One chance in a gazillion this thing would land here on its own. Look at it," she pointed a well manicured finger at the top of the pole. "One teeny puff of air, a passing butterfly, a temperature change, and it would have missed. How else could this be possible?"
Maggie slipped on her shoes and stepped to the pole. "I suspect the chances of this happening were nearly 100%."
Joan and the man scowled. "You're just trying to be difficult," Joan declared in a huff. "How can you stand at the foot of such a spectacular example of supernatural magnificence, and push it aside?"
The man interjected before Maggie could answer. "Surly you jest. You don't actually believe this could happen all by itself."
"Well, it took the laws of gravity to pull the quarter down, and the complexity of forces created by wind and a spinning coin to make it land exactly where it did. But otherwise, yes, it happened without assistance."
"Ridiculous," he said with a wave of his burly hands.
Joan approached with concern. "Come on, Mag, how can you say this?"
"I believe this happened exactly the way he described - it fell from the roof without being touched by humans, and landed right on this pole. But he's forgetting to tell you an important fact."
"I am not!" he protested. "You saw the proof!"
"Yes, but how many quarters were thrown?" Maggie asked.
"Quite a few, I'll grant you that," the man admitted reluctantly.
"Quite a few to say the least," Maggie began. "I've read about this. Is it not true that there had been quarters thrown off this building for days, months, years? Have there not been billions of quarters thrown by the bathtub full, into that back ally?"
"Well, yes, this is true."
"Didn't you and your organization hire bus loads of people to scoop up the quarters from the ground, and ferry them back up to the top, only to be thrown off again?"
"Yes, bu
t this doesn't affect the final outcome. One landed on this pole. See?" He pointed again, with the conviction of a priest.
"Given the size of the top of that pole, and the number of quarters thrown, I am not surprised one landed on it. I'm shocked there is not a stack of quarters piled ten high."
The man turned away, and approached some new passerby shoppers. Joan gathered her boxes and waited for Maggie to heft her books up to her arms. "I don't know, Maggie. There's something about that quarter on that pole. Why would you be so intent on explaining it away?"
"All I'm saying is that if something happens millions of times, and one time does something highly unlikely, it doesn't prove that God exists. To the contrary, it's expected. Or put another way, even if God does exist, he didn't have to do anything to help the quarter."
THREE
Maggie and Joan continued down Fifth Avenue. Their long standing friendship had no trouble cutting through the differences in opinion. Within a block, they were ogling at window displays, and comparing notes on their most hedonistic lunch possibilities.
"Fried calamari and clam cakes!"
"Yum. With chocolate mousse cheesecake for dessert."
"And a coffee mocha."
"Yea!"
"Hello young ladies, watch out for the small enclosure up ahead," a man announced to them cordially.
They looked at each other from behind the stack of packages. Joan shrugged, "Enclosure? What encl?"
"Watch out!" Maggie shouted, pushing Joan to the side. There in the middle of the sidewalk was a little three inch high cement wall, in a circle around what looked like a penny. "You could have broken your neck tripping on that thing!"
The man rushed to Joan's side. "I'm very sorry, Ma'am, I tried to warn you," he said, picking up one of the boxes that fell from her stack.
"What the heck?" Joan said, putting down the rest of the boxes. "Why would you have this in the middle of the sidewalk?" Both women frowned.
The man reached out a book. A thick, heavy book with onion skin pages. Maggie weighed it in her hands. She leafed through, reading tidbits. Soon she was cutting ahead in thick bunches, hundreds of pages at a time, to read random paragraphs. "Oh my! This whole book is about the penny!"
"It is?" Joan leaned over to see.
"Look, the significance of where it rests on the sidewalk relative to the surroundings, down to the millionth of an inch. Descriptions of the nearby stores. Height above sea level. Look at this?" She opened the book to a page with an electron microscope photograph. "These are interpretations of the imperfections in the cement around one side of the penny."
The man stepped closer. "If you look in the next chapter, you'll see where we have identified the face of Christ in the cracks of the cement."
Joan smirked, "Why all the fuss? What's so special about this penny?"
"You don't know?" the man asked. They shook their heads. "Why it was thrown from the top of the Empire State Building and landed exactly in this place."
"Not this again," Maggie said.
Joan shrugged, "Ok, it was thrown from the roof, so what?"
The man braced for his well practiced speech. "Look at how it sits there, how perfectly placed in that particular spot. Do you know how small the probability is of this penny landing in exactly this place? Look around you, ladies. It could have landed anywhere for miles in every direction."
Joan winked at Maggie with a 'I'm learning' smile, then turned defiantly to the man. "Yes, Sir, but how many pennies were thrown from the building?"
"Only one," he said, smoothly.
Joan was taken aback. "Only one? You're kidding."
"No I am not. I'm telling you, this is absolutely astounding. It landed in this very spot. This two thousand page book describes the countless ways this particular spot is so fantastical."
Joan looked at Maggie, hoping to find a glimmer of astonishment on her face. But there was none. She turned back to the man. "You swear, this was the only penny thrown?"
"I swear. There were lots of quarters, but only one single penny. And this is it."
"Mag! Listen to him!" She took the book from Maggie and wagged it in the air. "Look at all this! Now do you think this could have happened without divine intervention? The probability is too small without it!"
A large, ornate building next to them opened its heavy carved doors, and people flooded into the sidewalk. Business people, Doctors, Teachers, smiling children, people from all cultures and backgrounds surrounded them. Joan and Maggie were pushed in toward the penny shrine as each person leaned in to catch a glimpse before moving on.
The man spoke through the crowd. "They're paying homage. They're here to show respect."
Maggie looked around at the sea of faces in amazement. "They're all here to see the penny?"
"That's a church," the man said. "They find solace in being close to something touched by God."
Maggie shook her head. "I don't believe this."
Joan hugged her arm, "You're accustomed to always having an answer. It's ok that some things might be unexplainable. That's the wonder of God."
"Joan. Once again, you're forgetting something important."
Joan's arms fell to her side. "Not again. Now what? There was only one penny this time, remember?"
"Yes, I understand. But you've over looked the fact that it had to land somewhere! With 100% probability. This just happened to be the place."
Joan stopped to think. The man wormed his way through the crowd to squeeze in his final word, "Not so! The penny could have simply floated away, and not hit the ground at all. There is a chance of that, so there is proof that your 100% probability is wrong!"
"True," Maggie said. "You got me there. But then again, if that happened, we wouldn't be here talking about it.
FOUR
Maggie ran from the car to the front door to avoid the rain. She dropped the heavy pile of books on the already crowded bench in the front hall. Her mix breed dog Stella came wagging. Her son was out for the weekend, her husband away on business. She wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a cool glass of wine, but she'd promised herself she'd get out for a run.
Stella nearly wet herself when Maggie rounded the top of the stairs in running garb. Only a dog wouldn't chuckle at the bright yellow hood tied tightly around her face. Maggie groaned at the sounds of pounding rain.
Once her cheeks became accustomed to the cool raindrops, and her shoes were beyond wet, her spirits lifted. As did her speed. All the passing cars were sealed shut. Children in the back seats pressed their faces against drawn circles in the foggy glass. Maggie waved.
She felt alone, a wonderful aloneness. She was the only one brave enough to be there, in this moment. Everyone else was separated, in their little capsules. But not Maggie. She raised her arms and faced the sky so the rain pelted her skin. She shouted into the thundering downpour.
She owned the outdoors. That is until she rounded the corner by the cemetery and saw the man.
He kneeled down in front of a humble grave stone, one knee denting the muddy earth. He lowered something to the grass and leaned it against the stone. Maggie could see his mouth moving. She wanted to see what he left there, and to hear his words, but of course she wouldn't intrude his private moment. She ran along side the stone wall surrounding the cemetery, with her eyes trained on the man, until she tripped over a chunk of sidewalk tilted up by the root of a large tree. She landed face down on wet sidewalk. She skinned her palms.
Before she could pull herself off the ground, she heard a soft voice. "May I help you up?" the man asked. "My name is Henry."
"I think I can manage, thanks Henry," Maggie said, trying to hide the stinging pain in her hands. "I'm Maggie. What a klutz. That's what I get for running in the rain."
"It wasn't the rain's fault, it was mine. You were looking at me, weren't you."
She wiped the mud from her knees and pants. "Well, yes. I was."
"Sorry. I came out to say hello to my old friend."
&n
bsp; "In the pouring rain?"
He had to raise his naturally quiet voice to be heard over the deluge. "Yes, I know. Crazy like you."
She wasn't going to run any more since an ankle was starting to throb. A few minutes rest might do her good. "A relative?"
"No, just a friend."
"I don't mean to be nosy, may I ask what you put by the grave?"
"You want to see?"
She glanced into the muddy cemetery. "Why not. I can't get any wetter."
He walked ahead of her. He looked like a boulder under a waterfall with the water splashing off his brimmed hat and London Fog coat. She took a place next to him and stared down at their feet. It was a plastic bag with a baseball card inside. The date on the stone read that he'd died sixty years earlier.
"How sad," Maggie said.
"Not really. He brings me joy, my old friend. He made so many people happy."
"Even now, you think about him. He'd be pleased." Maggie said.
"I was a kid. I only played with him a few times, and frankly didn't know him that well. But when one of your teenager friends dies, it hits you pretty hard. All the kids in the neighborhood."
"Sixty years later, and you're bringing gifts to a kid you hardly knew?" She felt her cheeks flush, suddenly embarrassed with her insensitivity.
He turned his well aged face toward her. His green eyes shined even in the dim light of the storm. "He took a bunch of disengaged street kids and gave us a reason to live. He left us a gift. We might not have faced our mortality for half a century if it weren't for him. We've lived better that he died."
Maggie stood silently letting the words embrace her. They both stared down at the baseball card as if waiting for it to deliver more profound information.
"He's living in heaven, right here in our thoughts," Henry finally said. "He's in the hearts and minds of our group of friends, and in their children. Maybe a little of him has just joined you."
"Is that what heaven is? Thoughts of the dead in the minds of the living, memorialized into perfection?" Maggie asked.
"It may not be the only thing heaven is, but it is heaven at the very least. The more people you touch in your life, the more happiness you bring, then the more people will remember you."