The Professor and the Prophet

Originally written in 2001, versions of "The Professor and The Prophet" have become an Internet phenomenon. This tale of an aging professor and an intelligent young man of faith has, like a game of 'telephone', been gradually altered here and there by readers trying to "prove" the existence of god, or the "fact" of various religions' correctness; one variant even featured Albert Einstein himself, leading to a 2004 investigation by the urban legend debunking website Snopes.com as to whether the events recounted herein might have been historically factual.

But none of the things that this story has been reshaped into were part of its original message. Like a religion evolving in time-lapse, the story that once was has been hopelessly twisted by its own followers, its lessons forgotten. In a way, that is the penultimate irony.

Here, for the first time, you can read the original version of this intriguing tale, and see for yourself what all the fuss is about.

* * * * *

It is said that each new beginning brings a new potential for greatness. Every child has a shot at success, new love always holds the possibility of life-long happiness, and each New Year gives us all a chance of realizing something better in the days ahead. It doesn't always pan out, but that same excitement at each new opportunity is always there. And when possibility becomes actuality, therein lies fulfillment.

So reflected an aging philosophy professor as his new class filed in for the first day of the fall semester. He'd seen years come and go from behind his antique oaken desk, and he'd seen some of the most profound minds in the world come into their own right here, in this room. But his most cherished memories did not come from seeing the light of understanding dawn in his pupils' enthusiastic young eyes; his moments of true glory came when they taught him.

As time had gone by, that kind of experience had become rare. Now, as he began his final year, he hoped to re-create one of those magical moments one more time.

To do that, he'd have to pull out all the stops. He'd always taught his classes by invoking controversy; this time, he'd nail them head on with the biggest one of them all.

Sink or swim, he thought.

Once all had taken their seats, he stood. Rounding his desk with the smooth confidence of a predator tracking a meal that had just ventured into his own lair, he cast his gaze across the room, taking in all the fresh faces. Many showed dull apathy, but a few had that gleam in their eyes, that hunger to learn, that made them perfect prey.

He leaned back against the edge of the desk and singled out his target. This was a student much like any other. He was of average height, average build, with brown hair and eyes. He was dressed in unremarkable attire, not too rich, but not poor either. In fact, the only thing special about this particular student, the thing that drew the professor's eye, was the small golden cross the young man wore around his neck.

Letting the smallest trace of a grin flash across his face, the professor looked away, his eyes again roaming through the crowd.

"Let me explain the problem science has with religion," he began. Abruptly, without making eye contact, he pointed at the cross-bearing student.

"You. Stand up please," he said.

Anxiety came and left his expression in just a moment as he rose. He stood straight; calm acceptance masking whatever emotional turmoil roiled beneath the surface.

"You're a Christian, aren't you, son?"

"Yes, sir," the student said.

"So you believe in God?"

"Of course."

The professor paused, pretending to mull over this response. Then he laid his trap.

"Is God good?" he asked.

Confusion briefly flickered on the student's face. "Yes, God is good," he said.

"Ok," the professor nodded, "Is God all-powerful?"

"Yes."

"How about you?" the professor asked, "Are you good?"

"I'm redeemed," the student answered.

"That's not what I asked. Why are you 'redeemed'? Are you good, or are you evil?"

"The Bible says I'm wicked. I'm a sinner."

The professor grinned. "I'll take that as an 'evil'."

He turned around and moved to the chalkboard. In large letters, he wrote: The Bible.

He spun to face the class and gestured with his chalk at the words. "Isn't this book the same source that tells you God is good?"

He didn't bother to wait for a response. "Riddle me this: if there was a sick person here and you had the power to heal him, would you?"

"Of course," the student answered.

"Doesn't that make you 'good'?"

"I wouldn't say that."

"Why not? You'd help a sick person if you could. Most of us probably would. And I'm sure we would all agree that such an act would be a good thing." He paused again, letting the thought sink in. Looking around the room, he could see that he now had every student's full attention.

"Your 'God', however, won't," he stated.

"I've known many sick people," the professor said, "Christians, Jews, Muslims, Wiccans, Atheists, and people of every other kind. No matter their beliefs, they die just the same.

"My brother died of cancer, though he prayed to Jesus to heal him. My wife honors The Lady, yet she slips further and further into the grip of Alzheimer's.

"Any one of you 'evil' people would save another, but God does not. How can we call that 'good'? Can you answer that?"

The silence was profound.

"Let's start again. Is God good?"

"Well... Yes," the student said.

"Is Satan good?"

"No." There was no hesitation.

"And where did Satan come from?"

A pause. "He was once the archangel Lucifer, but he rebelled against God and was cast down..."

"But where did he come from?" the professor pressed.

"From... God..."

"So we must assume," the professor said, "Since we are told that God created all that is, God must have created Satan too. Now, answer me this: Is there evil in this world?"

"Yes, sir."

"And God did make everything, correct?"

"Yes."

"So who created evil?"

Again, silence was his only answer.

The professor went on. "If God created all that exists, and evil exists, then God must have created evil, yes? Now, if we believe that what we do, our works, if you will, determines who we are, then must God not Himself be evil?"

Once more, resounding silence filled the chamber.

"There are terrible things in this world. Sickness, immorality, hatred! Even God himself falls victim to that most egregious sin; the holy books are filled with long lists of all the things that God hates."

He paused. He locked eyes with the student, his penetrating gaze made the young man tremble.

"If God says hatred is evil, and God himself is obsessed with the all things he hates, things that he himself created, what does that make him?"

The student averted his eyes. Quietly, he sat down.

Triumphantly, the professor turned back to the black board. But as he picked up the chalk once more, another voice came to his ears.

"Professor, you're missing an important point."

The old man turned, grinning his wicked grin. Another student, one in the back, had risen to his feet. He was dark of skin with hair black as night. And around his neck hung another symbol; the sign of the crescent moon.

"Ah, one of Muhammad's followers! What have you to add to our discussion, then?"

"For starters, if you're going to give God credit for creating all that exists, then you have to allow for the notion that he created all that is good in the world as well."

The professor's grin changed into a narrow smirk. "So you believe in God, then?"

"Yes, professor, I do."

"It is a fact that you have five senses with which to observe and comprehend the world around you: sight, touch, hearing, smell, and taste. Have you ever seen God?"

"I believe that you are deliberately misleading the class, professor. God is not just a scaled-up human sitting on a throne somewhere in the sky, but an aware entity that suffuses the whole of creation. By seeing you, or that desk, or the light beyond that window, I am seeing an aspect of God. But if you mean 'have I ever met a corporeal manifestation of the divine spirit?' No."

"Good answer," the professor said, "But you're dodging the question. My point is that you cannot empirically distinguish whether God is real or a figment of your imagination. I can daydream about there being magical fairies living in my shoes all I want, but unless I can somehow determine whether that is actually the case or not, I'm living in a fantasy."

"Unless the fairies are real, sir."

"But if I can't tell whether they are or not, then I would be acting irrationally by believing in them. What reason would I have to suspect fairies to begin with? A lucky guess?"

The professor went on. "The bottom line is this: according the rules of scientific protocol, that conclusions must be based on testable, demonstrable - and repeatable - observation, God does not exist. What do you have to say to that?"

"Nothing. Your analysis is correct."

"Then by what reason do you justify your belief in God?"

"I have only my faith, sir."

"Ah, faith." The smirk returned to the old man's face. The game had become much more intriguing than he'd dared hope.

"You've put your finger on the precise problem that science has with the concept of God. There is no evidence, only faith."

"Indeed. However, you're missing something important again, professor."

"Really?" he said with mock surprise, "And what might that be?"

"In order to truly comprehend anything, people must rely on both faith and reason. They are like opposite shoes: no one gets very far with only one of them."

The professor's eyebrows rose as heads spun all around the room to face the young Muslim.

"Explain," was all the old man said.

"Very well, professor. Is there such a thing as heat?"

"Yes, of course there is."

"And is there such a thing as cold?"

"Certainly."

"No, sir, there isn't."

For the first time in all the long years the professor had lead this class, a person other than himself had rendered everyone in the room utterly speechless.

"We can perceive and experience both heat and cold. However, we cannot empirically define cold. We can measure heat. We can have a lot of heat, very little heat, super-heat, or no heat. We can go all the way to absolute zero, and nowhere will we find any evidence of 'cold'. According to science, this 'cold' you believe in does not exist."

The professor nodded to acknowledge the point, so the student went on. "The only rational way to reconcile this discrepancy is to concede that cold is not a true thing in its own right, but, rather, the lack of a thing. Cold is not the opposite of heat; it is nothing more than the absence of heat."

"You're right," the professor said, trying to recapture control of his class, "but while you can show that what we call common sense isn't necessarily in keeping with rational science - and that any of us can fall victim to it -" He paused for the laughter that followed. "That does not mean that 'faith' plays any role in the process of reason, except to trick us into foolish errors."

The student raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do you believe in light, professor?"

"Of course I do. We can see it, measure it, and so on. Light is real."

"Do you also believe in darkness?"

"Yes, and I see where you are going. I believe in darkness, something that I experience but cannot technically 'prove', for the same reason I believe in cold. It is nothing more than the absence of something that does exist: light. But what is your point?"

"My point is that your philosophical premise is flawed, so your conclusion must also be flawed."

The professor could not hide his surprise. "Flawed? Can you explain how?"

"You are viewing the concept of God as something finite, something we can measure. You base your premise that God is either good or evil on a concept of duality. To view death as the opposite of life is to be ignorant of the fact that death cannot exist as a substantive thing. Death is not the opposite of life, just the absence of it."

The professor opened his mouth, but the student pushed on, cutting him off. "Professor, do you believe that your students evolved from monkeys?"

"If you are referring to the evolutionary process, young man, of course I do."

"Have you ever observed evolution with your own eyes?"

The professor shook his head, now genuinely smiling. It finally dawned on him where this argument was going. It was the moment he'd been waiting for.

"Since you have not observed the process of evolution at work," the student said, "you cannot prove that it is factual. You take the word of others, who claim to have tested the idea, but you do not know for yourself. One might say that you are 'taking it on faith'. Effectively, are you not teaching your opinion? Are you no longer a scientist, but a preacher?"

The class erupted in a cacophonous uproar. The student remained silent until the commotion had subsided.

"To continue the point you were making earlier to the other student, let me give you an example of what I mean."

The student made a show of looking all around the room. "Is there anyone in the class who has ever seen the professor's brain?"

The class erupted with laughter.

"Is there anyone here who has ever heard the professor's brain, felt the professor's brain, touched or smelt the professor's brain?"

Even the professor had to chuckle. The student stopped his search, and faced the teacher once more. "It appears that no one can confirm that you have a brain. According to the rules of scientific protocol, your brain does not exist. If so, how can we trust your lectures, sir?"

The professor knew a red herring when he heard one. Of course, he could have pointed out that an MRI or any number of other tests could settle the question, but he was much more interested in where the discussion was going. So, he decided to play along. He said, "I guess you'll have to take it on faith."

The student winked, and went on. "Now, is there such a thing as evil?"

"Of that, there can be no doubt. Evil can be observed. Evil can be measured. We see it all the time; genocides in foreign lands, brutal acts of savagery against innocents. There is crime, violence, and all manner of other ills everywhere in the world. Evil is as real as-"

The student cut him off. "Darkness? As real as cold? As real as death?"

A murmur began to rise from the assembled class.

"Evil does not exist, sir. At least, it does not exist unto itself. Evil is simply the absence of good. It is just like those things, and many other concepts: nothing more than a word that man has created to describe the absence of something."

"God did not create evil," the student said, "Evil is the result of an absence of the good that properly dwells in the hearts of men, good that flows from God. Evil is the darkness, the void left when God's light is missing."

"Professor, your fundamental error is one shared by multitudes, faithful and non-believer alike. It comes from the assumption that it is a particular personification of the divine that is ultimately real or not. But the names by which we call God, and the images we imagine, are nothing more than masks, tools allowing us to conceptualize the infinite in an understandable way.

"In truth, the divine entity that we call God is not good because he is God; he is God because he is good."

In the distance, a bell began to ring. The student bowed, picked up his books, and left the room. The professor sat down as the rest of the class filed out; a widening smile spread across his ancient visage. "Reason and faith..." he said to himself.

It had been a great day indeed.