Then and Now by W. Somerset Maugham

I picked this one up at a second-hand bookshop somewhere as part of my on-going quest to read everything Somerset Maugham has written. I knew nothing about it, and my purchased copy gave no external clues, having long lost its dust jacket.

Turns out it is a neat little morality play that focuses on the plots and intrigues of Niccolo Machiavelli, the Florentine politician, diplomat, philosopher and writer in the early years of the 16th century. 

There are two primary stories.

The ‘A’ story focuses on Machiavelli’s diplomatic embroilments with Cesare Borgia (often referred to in the text as The Duke), his contemporary in 16th century Italy, a mercenary leader and politician on whose career Machiavelli based his famous political treatise, The Prince.

In many ways, it is fascinating to note Machiavelli’s interactions with a character who is clearly his equal -- or superior -- in the field of, well, machiavellianism.

This exchange occurs while Machiavelli is serving on Borgia’s court as a Secretary, a kind of ambassador, from Florence, as Borgia plots his diplomatic and military moves to conquer the whole of Italy. It’s fun in the way it personifies the maxims and the tactics later espoused in The Prince, and in the way it plays with the idea of the two characters working together.

Machiavelli sighed. He was filled with an unwilling admiration for this man whose spirit was so fiery and who was so confident in his power to get whatsoever he wanted.

“No one can doubt that you are favoured by fortune, Excellency,” he said.

“Fortune favours him who knows how to take advantage of his opportunity. Do you suppose it was a happy accident, by which I profited, that the governor of the citadel refused to surrender to me personally?”

“I wouldn’t do Your Excellency that injustice. After what has happened today, I can guess that you made it worth his while.”

The Duke laughed. 

“I like you, Secretary. You are a man with whom one can talk. I shall miss you.” He paused and for what seemed quite a long time looked searchingly at Machiavelli. “I could almost wish that you were in my service.”

“Your Excellency is very kind. I am very well content to serve the Republic.”

“What does it profit you? The salary you receive is so miserable that to make both ends meet you have to borrow from your friends.”

This gave Machiavelli something of a turn, but then he remembered that the Duke must know of the twenty-five ducats Bartolomeo had lent him.

“I am careless of money and of an extravagant disposition,” he answered with a pleasant smile. “It is my own fault if from time to time I live beyond my means.”

“You would find it hard to do that if you were employed by me. It is very pleasant to be able to give a pretty lady a ring, a bracelet or a brooch when one wishes to obtain her favours.”

“I have made it my rule to satisfy my desires with women of easy virtue and modest pretensions.”

“A good rule enough if one’s desires were under one’s control, but who can tell what strange tricks love can play on him? Have you never discovered, Secretary, to what expense one is put when one loves a virtuous woman?”

The Duke was looking at him with mocking eyes and for an instant Machiavelli asked himself uneasily whether it was possible that he knew of his unsatisfied passion for Aurelia, but the thought had no sooner come into his mind than he rejected it. The Duke had more important things to occupy him than the Florentine envoy’s love affairs.

These are references to the novel’s ‘B’ story (more on that soon) but, importantly, here, they are showing Machiavelli at the disadvantage of his “Prince.” Much of the fun of the novel is wrapped up in this idea. Machiavelli meets his Prince, and is undone by him.

The dialogue continues with Machiavelli saying:

“I am willing to take it for granted and leave both the pleasure and the expense to others.”

The Duke gazed at him thoughtfully. You might have imagined that he was asking himself what kind of a man this was, but with no ulterior motive, from idle curiosity rather. So, when you find yourself alone with a stranger in the waiting room of an office to pass the time you try from the look of him to guess his business, his calling, his habits and his character.

“I should have thought you were too intelligent a man to be content to remain for the rest of your life in a subordinate position,” said the Duke.

“I have learnt from Aristotle that it is the better part of wisdom to cultivate the golden mean.”

“Is it possible that you are devoid of ambition?”

“Far from it, Excellency,” smiled Machiavelli. “My ambition is to serve my state to the best of my ability.”

“That is just what you will not be allowed to do. You know better than anyone that in a republic talent is suspect. A man attains high office because his mediocrity prevents him from being a menace to his associates. That is why a democracy is ruled not by the men who are most competent to rule it, but by the men whose insignificance can excite nobody’s apprehension. Do you know what are the cankers that eat the heart of a democracy?”

Heed now. A real lesson in political science is about to follow.

He looked at Machiavelli as though waiting for an answer, but Machiavelli said nothing.

“Envy and fear. The petty men in office are envious of their associates and rather than that one of them should gain reputation will prevent him from taking a measure on which may depend the safety and prosperity of the state; and they are fearful because they know that all about them are others who will stop at neither lies nor trickery to step into their shoes. And what is the result? The result is that they are more afraid of doing wrong than zealous to do right. They say dog doesn’t bite dog: whoever invented that proverb never lived under a democratic government.”

Machiavelli remained silent. He knew only too well how much truth there was in what the Duke said. He remembered how hotly the election to his own subordinate post had been contested and with what bitterness his defeated rivals had taken it. He knew that he had colleagues who were watching his every step, ready to pounce upon any slip he made that might induce the Signory to dismiss him. The Duke continued.

“A prince in my position is free to choose men to serve him for their ability. He need not give a post to a man who is incapable of filling it because he needs his influence or because he had a party behind him whose services must be recognized. He fears no rival because he is above rivalry and so, instead of favouring mediocrity, which is the curse and bane of democracy, seeks out talent, energy, initiative and intelligence. No wonder things go from bad to worse in your republic; the last reason for which anyone gets office is his fitness for it.”

In the end, witnessing the Duke’s on-going words and actions to eliminate opponents and to consolidate his political power, Machiavelli is suitably impressed. Here he speaks to his friend, Bartolomeo, about the scope of the Duke’s vision and impact.

“A strange man,” he muttered, “perhaps a great one.”

“Of whom are you speaking?” asked Bartolomeo.

“Of the Duke of course. Of whom else could I have been speaking? He has rid himself of his enemies by the exercise of a duplicity so perfect that the onlooker can only wonder and admire. These painters with their colours and their brushes prate about the works of art they produce, but what are they in comparison with a work of art that is produced when your paints are living men and your brushes wit and cunning? The Duke is a man of action and impetuous, you would never have credited him with the wary patience that was needed to bring his beautiful stratagem to a successful issue. For four months he kept them guessing at his intentions; he worked on their fears, he traded on their jealousies, he confused them by his wiles, he fooled them with false promises; with infinite skill he sowed dissension among them, so that the Bentivogli in Bologna and Baglioni in Perugia deserted them. You know how ill it has served Baglioni: the Bentivogli’s turn will come. As suited his purpose he was friendly and genial, stern and menacing; and at last they stepped into the trap he had set. It was a masterpiece of deceit which deserves to go down to posterity for the neatness of its planning and the perfection of its execution.”

High praise, indeed -- especially from a character like Machiavelli who, in the novel’s ‘B’ story, attempts similar feats of deceit and treachery for another goal: seducing Aurelia, the young and bewitching wife of his friend Bartolomeo. Machiavelli pursues her with all the guile and duplicity of his Prince, but is thwarted at every turn by both circumstance and the unplanned for actions of confidants and patsies alike.

In the end, having been thwarted, Machiavelli grows philosophical, thinking it best to turn his whole adventure into a more idealized work of art.

“What is love in comparison with art?” he repeated. “Love is transitory, but art is eternal. Love is merely Nature’s device to induce us to bring into this vile world creatures who from the day of their birth to the day of their death will be exposed to hunger and thirst, sickness and sorrow, envy, hatred and malice. … The creation of man was not even a tragic mistake, it was a grotesque mischance. What is its justification? Art, I suppose. Lucretius, Horace, Catullus, Dante and Petrarch. And perhaps they would never have been driven to write their divine works if their lives had not been full of tribulation, for there is no question that if I had gone to bed with Aurelia I should never have had the idea of writing a play. So when you come to look at it, it’s all turned out for the best. I lost a trinket and picked up a jewel fit for a king’s crown.”

Maugham here is referring to another real-world work of Machiavelli, The Mandrake, a play about many of the same subjects and characters described in Then and Now. In this way, the novel tells the fictionalized account of how two of Machiavelli’s works came into being.

And in the writing of the play, Machiavelli discovers his supreme happiness.

Now that he had a plot the scenes succeeded one another with inevitability. They fell into place like the pieces of a puzzle. It was as though the play were writing itself and he, Machiavelli, were no more than an amanuensis. If he had been excited before, when the notion of making a play out of his misadventure had first come to him, he was doubly excited now that it all lay clear before his mind’s eye like a garden laid out with terraces and fountains, shady walks and pleasant arbours. When they stopped to dine, absorbed in his characters he paid no attention to what he ate; and when they started off again he was unconscious of the miles they travelled; they came near to Florence and the countryside was as familiar to him, and as dear, as the street he was born in, but he had no eyes for it; the sun, long past its meridian, was making its westering way to where met earth and sky, but he gave no heed to it. He was in a world of make-believe that rendered the real world illusory. He felt more than himself. He was Callimaco, young, handsome, rich, audacious, gay; and the passion with which he burnt for Lucrezia was of a tempestous violence that made the desire Machiavelli had had for Aurelia a pale slight thing. That was but a shadow, this was the substance. Machiavelli, had he only known it, was enjoying the supreme happiness that man is capable of experiencing, the activity of creation.

Machiavelli, yes, but I can’t help but see a little bit of Maugham poking through in those words as well. 

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This post first appeared on Eric Lanke's blog, an association executive and author. You can follow him on Twitter @ericlanke or contact him at eric.lanke@gmail.com.

Dragons - Chapter 73 (DRAFT)

What happened next will probably go down in history as the worst firing ever executed. From the walled cocoon of my office I could only rely on my sense of hearing, but that was enough to know that there was shouting, slamming doors, and, at one point, what sounded suspiciously like the scuffle of a physical altercation.

The deed was probably done in Gerald’s office, three doors down from mine, and Gerald’s voice would occasionally penetrate the various layers of drywall and unblemished paint that separated us.

“He’s a fucking liar! Alan Larson is a goddamn fucking liar!”

That was the first outburst. Through the glass of my office door I could see a handful of junior staff in their workstations, their heads first coming up in curiosity, and then hunkering down in fear.

A few minutes later, we all heard, “Take your paper and shove it up your fat ass, Don!”

Now I saw Ruthie fluttering by my office door, gathering people up and out of their workstations, and taking them probably down to the break room so that they would be out of the line of fire when Gerald was perp-walked down to the elevators.

It deteriorated quickly, and although Gerald’s voice continued to bleat like a slaughtered pig, not once did I hear the words of either Don nor Mary that must have been sticking him. They were playing it cool, I knew, having seen both of them in action before. Don Bascom was a master at The Firing, exhibiting a kind of ruthless efficiency that seemed absent from all of his other responsibilities in the company. At no point would he raise his voice, break a sweat, or show any other form of agitation. A decision has been made, and he was simply here to tell you about it.

“Take your goddamn hands off me! You stupid fuck!”

This one was much louder. Clearly Gerald’s office door had been opened and that was when the scuffle occurred, the soft and subtle slaps and grunts of grown men wrestling with each other. I was self-consciously biting off one of my fingernails when the combatants walked by my office, Gerald first, with Don tightly on his tail but with neither of his goddamn hands on the doomed soul. As he passed, Gerald struck out and banged his fist hard against my glass, rattling the whole door in its frame and, as I would discover later, cracking the glass deeply enough that it would need to be replaced.

“You’re a dead man, Alan! You’re a fucking dead man!”

In another context, I’d like to think that I would have laughed at such melodrama. Indeed, I remember trying to console myself with an imaginary vision of Gerald twirling his villain’s mustache while tying my pregnant wife to the railroad tracks, but it didn’t work. Truth be told, I was shaken and full of doubt at what I had just done. Had I misjudged the situation? Did Gerald have some secret pull that I was unaware of, something that he could use to make my life even more miserable than it was? Or was he unhinged enough to actually make good on his otherwise ridiculous threat on my life? In that lonely crucible of my own doubts and insecurity, it seemed like anything was possible, like I was no longer in control of anything that would happen to me.

I tried to busy myself with the papers on my desk, with my fingers on the keyboard, with anything, something besides those four blank walls mocking me, closing in on me like a trash compactor, compressing and shaping me into the clueless loser they and everyone beyond them knew that I was.

It was dark stuff. I don’t know what depths I would’ve fallen to had Bethany not appeared in my doorway, tapping ever so lightly on the glass that Gerald had just broken. I waved her inside and she came in quiet as a whisper, roosting herself on the edge of my visitor chair, her hands folded protectively in her lap.

“Are you okay?” 

Her first question surprised me, and made me realize that perhaps I had been crying and that perhaps she could see that I was.

“Yeah,” I said, absently wiping my eyes. “Sure. I’m fine.”

“What happened?”

“You tell me,” I said. “I’ve been stuck in this office for the last fifteen minutes.”

“They just walked Gerald out of here,” she said. 

“That much seems clear,” I said. “And he made a lot of noise on the way out.”

“People are scared,” Bethany said, leaning in closer and perching her fingertips with their acrylic nail polish on the edge of my desk. “The whole office heard him shouting. We heard some of the things he said.”

That one made me pause. I knew what I had heard, but now realized that others may have heard other things, things said at a lower volume that were muffled coming into my isolation chamber but clearly audible in other parts of the office. Not knowing what else to do, I only nodded.

“What are you going to do?”

“Now? Nothing. I’m supposed to wait here until Mary comes and talks to me.”

And, as if summoned by dark magic, with the mention of her name, Mary appeared like a beige apparition in my doorway. Without knocking she opened the door and let herself in.

“Bethany,” she said, any surprise she might have felt at finding her in my office completely masked. “Could you give Alan and me a minute alone, please.”

Bethany seemed flustered, awkwardly getting to her feet and almost falling over with her sudden movement and change in elevation. She gave me a pained look, her lips openly silently but forming no words that I could discern. She turned to look at Mary, standing at my door with it held open to facilitate her exit. Straightening her blouse and smoothing out her skirt, she left my office without saying a word.

Mary shut the door and turned to me. “Is there something going on between the two of you?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“What?” 

“You and Bethany. Is there something going on between the two of you?”

I looked at her incredulously. It was a difficult question to answer. There was definitely something going on between me and Bethany, something with many layers to it, some above, but most below the surface -- but none of them were of the nature that Mary was insinuating.

“No,” I said. “Of course not.”

She looked at me suspiciously, and seemed to be waiting for me to add more to my testimony.

“Mary,” I said, speaking out against my better judgment. “Honestly, no. There’s nothing going on between me and Bethany. She just wanted to know what I knew about what had happened to Gerald.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“Nothing. She was only her for a minute. You appeared before a conversation could even start.”

Mary relaxed her arms and moved to take a seat in my visitor chair. She studied me for a few moments in silence, but this time I knew enough to keep my mouth shut.

“Well, we’ve got a real problem,” she said, her tone switching gears towards the business at hand.

“We do?” I asked, putting extra emphasis on the ‘we’. I had not even entertained the idea that I might be Mary’s second dismissal of the day until she was sitting across from me. For a sickening moment I was almost sure of it. She was here to fire me. But her use of the word ‘we’ gave me some hope and I clung to it.

“Yes,” Mary said. “Gerald said some very disturbing things in his separation interview.”

Separation interview. Only Mary could continue to use such corporate speak after the flying fuck fest that had just occurred. 

“I heard some of it,” I said. “I know he called me a liar.”

“He called you much more than that.”

Mary then went on to describe all the things Gerald had said about me, evidently in-between the shouting and cursing I had heard. Evidently, he talked about me a lot, me and his low opinion of my leadership skills and my overall competency. I was in over my head, promoted beyond my ability, with poor judgment and a reluctance to act. He spent a long time talking about my handling of the situation with Wes Howard in Miami Beach, and about how it, above all else, had eroded the confidence that the rank and file had for me in the organization. No one trusted me. They knew I wasn’t up to any difficult task put before me and that, when push came to shove, I would throw anyone under the bus in order to preserve my own position and authority.

It was brutal. And coming so soon after my wrestling match with my own doubts and fears, it nearly unhinged me. Mary relayed the information in her own deadpan way -- just the facts, ma’am -- but still, there was judgment there. I suddenly remembered the conversation Mary and I had had in Miami, when she told me that Gerald wanted to be reassigned, that he no longer wanted to work under me, that he and others, including Eleanor Rumford, had lost confidence in my ability to lead. Mary didn’t mention that previous conversation, but when the memory of it flashed across my red face, she saw it, and she gave me a merciless look indicating that she knew I remembered it.

Eventually, she paused, and sat studying me, perhaps waiting to hear my side of the story, more likely waiting for me to step into the trap she had just laid.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Mary,” I said, attempting an absolute Hail Mary. “Gerald was the one working behind your back to undermine the company. Not me.”

Mary slowly nodded. “I know that,” she said. “Still, the things he said about you, we know that they are not entirely untrue, don’t we?”

I had a few moments of disorientation as I tried to work out her double negative in my distracted mind, but I quickly realized that she was looking for me to confess. That’s what was going on. She wanted me to admit that I was the loser Gerald said I was, and probably ask her for absolution. Was that going to be necessary for us to move forward? Could I even do that? What would that mean for my self-respect, for my ability to hold my head up and I continued to move from thankless task to thankless task in this broken organization?

“I will admit,” I said eventually, “that things have been challenging for me. I’m still carrying three workloads: mine, Michael’s and Susan’s.”

As she often did, Mary visibly winced at the mention of Susan’s name, but she quickly pivoted in a new direction. “And now you will have Gerald’s workload as well. You’re going to need to apply yourself more effectively, Alan. Remember, we have that leadership meeting coming up in a few weeks.”

I knew the meeting she was talking about it, but the idea that I would have to take on Gerald’s workload in addition to the burden I was already carrying was overwhelming in its implications.

“Mary!” I cried aloud. “You can’t expect me to do the work of four full-time positions. Can’t someone be reassigned to start helping out?”

Mary smiled, satisfied, I think, that I had allowed my exasperation to show through. “We’re working on it, Alan. I’ve got a pile of resumes on my desk a foot high. We’re looking for the right people to come in, but it takes time.”

It was a figure of speech, I knew, but I also knew it was a lie. There were no resumes on Mary’s desk. I had been watching the want ads and I knew that the company had not yet even advertised Susan’s or Michael’s positions. 

“I know,” I found myself saying, accepting the lie for the sake of the more direct point I was trying to make. “But what about someone already in the company? Isn’t there someone on another client that can be temporarily reassigned? I’ll keep doing what I’m doing, but having someone else take on Gerald’s responsibilities, that would be a tremendous help.”

Mary’s slippery smile only widened. “I’m sorry, Alan. You’re just going to have to figure this one out on your own. I know you don’t want to admit it, but you’ve brought most of this down upon yourself. If you get us through the leadership meeting in one piece, we may be able to shuffle some chairs, but until then, there is very little that I can do. You’re going to have to find a way.”

I looked at Mary icily. I knew what she was doing. She was doing to me what she did to everyone that had become more trouble than they were worth to her. I would not be fired. No, not unless I did something horrendous or illegal, I would never be fired. Worse than that, I was going to be worked until I collapsed and could take no more. Until I was dead. She was going to suck me dry, and then she was going to throw away my lifeless husk. She was a vampire, and I, now, had become her prey.

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“Dragons” is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. For more information, go here.

This post first appeared on Eric Lanke's blog, an association executive and author. You can follow him on Twitter @ericlanke or contact him at eric.lanke@gmail.com.

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The Case for Christ by Lee Strobel

The premise of this book is flawed. 

A Seasoned Journalist Chases Down the Biggest Story in History

Is there credible evidence that Jesus of Nazareth really is the Son of God?

Retracing his own spiritual journey from atheism to faith, Lee Strobel, former legal editor of the Chicago Tribune, cross-examines a dozen experts with doctorates from schools like Cambridge, Princeton, and Brandeis who are recognized authorities in their own fields.

Strobel challenges them with questions like “How reliable is the New Testament?” “Does evidence for Jesus exist outside the Bible?” “Is there any reason to believe the resurrection was an actual event?”

Strobel’s tough, point-blank questions make this Gold Medallion-winning book read like a captivating, fast-paced novel. But it’s not fiction. It’s a riveting quest for the truth about history’s most compelling figure.

What will your verdict be in “The Case for Christ”?

That’s from the back cover. It makes it sound like the author takes a skeptical and even-handed approach to the evidence and the witnesses that provide it.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Despite his claims to the contrary, Strobel is neither a skeptic, nor am I convinced that he was ever actually an atheist. From his own introduction:

For much of my life I was a skeptic. In fact, I considered myself an atheist. To me, there was far too much evidence that God was merely a product of wishful thinking, of ancient mythology, of primitive superstition. How could there be a loving God if he consigned people to hell just for not believing in him? How could miracles contravene the basic laws of nature? Didn’t evolution satisfactorily explain how life originated? Doesn’t scientific reasoning dispel belief in the supernatural?

As for Jesus, didn’t you know that he never claimed to be God? He was a revolutionary, a sage, an iconoclastic Jew -- but God? No, that thought never occurred to him! I could point you to plenty of university professors who said so -- and certainly they could be trusted, couldn’t they? Let’s face it: even a cursory examination of the evidence demonstrates convincingly that Jesus had only been a human being just like you and me, although with unusual gifts of kindness and wisdom.

But that’s all I had ever really given the evidence: a cursory look. I had read just enough philosophy and history to find support for my skepticism -- a fact here, a scientific theory there, a pithy quote, a clever argument. Sure, I could see some gaps and inconsistencies, but I had a strong motivation to ignore them: a self-serving and immoral lifestyle that I would be compelled to abandon if I were ever to change my views and become a follower of Jesus.

This is manipulation, pure and simple. And the giveaway is the “fear” of having to give up a self-serving and immoral lifestyle. That’s his Christian ethos poking through. Strobel isn’t talking about himself in this section. He’s talking about you, dear reader. And you, dear reader, aren’t a skeptical atheist, because skeptical atheists don’t pick up The Case For Christ except on a lark. His audience, his serious audience is the casual Christian, and his goal to convert you into a committed one.

Okay? Are we on the same page? Good. Let’s dig in.

The Rhetorical Two-Step

The arguments in this book fall into a couple of obvious categories, many of them faulty. Here’s an example of a category that I came to call the rhetorical two-step.

“Tell me this,” I said with an edge of challenge in my voice, “is it really possible to be an intelligent, critically thinking person and still believe that the four gospels were written by the people whose names have been attached to them?”

Blomberg set his cup of coffee on the edge of his desk and looked intently at me. “The answer is yes,” he said with conviction.

He sat back and continued. “It’s important to acknowledge that strictly speaking, the gospels are anonymous.”

Strobel will do this two-step again and again in his “narrative.” Using his interviewees as his mouthpiece, he will have them say one thing unequivocally, and then have them say the exact opposite in a supporting paragraph that follows. Was the Gospel of Matthew written by Matthew? Yes, absolutely. Wait, I mean, strictly speaking, no.

Want another example?

“Rabbis became famous for having the entire Old Testament committed to memory. So it would have been well within the capacity of Jesus’ disciples to have committed much more to memory than appears in all four gospels put together -- and to have passed it along accurately.”

“Wait a second,” I interjected. “Frankly, that kind of memorization seems incredible. How is that possible?”

“Yes, it is difficult for us to imagine today,” he conceded, “but this was an oral culture, in which there was great emphasis placed on memorization. And remember that eighty to ninety percent of Jesus’ words were originally in poetic form. This does not mean stuff that rhymes, but it has a meter, balanced lines, parallelism, and so forth -- and this would have created a great memory help.

“The other thing that needs to be said is that the definition of memorization was more flexible back then. In studies of cultures with oral traditions, there was freedom to vary how much of the story was told on any given occasion -- what was included, what was left out, what was paraphrased, what was explained, and so forth.

“One study suggested that in the ancient Middle East, anywhere from ten to forty percent of any given retelling of sacred tradition could vary from one occasion to the next.”

Did you catch the rhetorical two-step? Are the gospels an accurate description of what actually happened? Yes, absolutely. Wait, I mean, strictly speaking, no. Maybe 60% came from Jesus, the other 40% came from the storyteller, who had the freedom to vary the story as circumstances dictated. From that I would assume that whatever discrepancies there were in the four gospels would come from the 40% that are being added by the storyteller, and which could be eliminated as inaccurate. I mean, if they’re disagreeing, then how do you know which one is right?

And what’s that about Jesus speaking in poetic form? He spoke that way? Or people wrote his sayings down that way so they would be easier to memorize? Seems like we should have some greater clarity on that one.

The Early Church 

Another common crutch Strobel can’t seem to do without is the early church and how, evidently, we can safely assume that everything it purported to be true is actually true. Remember that rhetorical two-step about who wrote the gospels? Strobel’s interviewee went on to say this:

“But the uniform testimony of the early church was that Matthew, also known as Levi, the tax collector and one of the twelve disciples, was the author of the first gospel in the New Testament; that John Mark, a companion of Peter, was the author of the gospel we call Mark; and that Luke, known as Paul’s ‘beloved physician,’ wrote both the gospel of Luke and the Acts of the Apostles.”

“How uniform was the belief that they were the authors?” I asked. 

“There are no known competitors for these three gospels,” he said. “Apparently, it was just not in dispute.”

So there you go. The early church believed it. Must be true! I mean, it’s not like they got anything else wrong.

Frankly, it’s a little surprising how much of his house of cards is built on this foundation of what the early church believed. Acknowledging that there were a lot of writings and a lot of books floating around in those early years, Strobel appears rational when he asks:

“How did the early church leaders determine which books would be considered authoritative and which would be discarded?” I asked. “What criteria did they use in determining which documents would be included in the New Testament?”

“Basically, the early church had three criteria,” he said. “First, the books must have apstolic authority -- that is, they must have been written either by apostles themselves, who were eyewitnesses to what they wrote about, or by followers of apostles. So, in the case of Mark and Luke, while they weren’t among the twelve disciples, early tradition has it that Mark was the helper of Peter, and Luke was an associate of Paul.

Sorry. Got to interrupt there. Early tradition says Mark was written by Mark, and early tradition says Mark was a helper of Peter, and early tradition said Peter was one of the twelve disciples. Any evidence other than “early tradition” in that tenuous chain? Back to the except:

“Second, there was the criterion of conformity to what was called the rule of faith. That is, was the document congruent with the basic Chirstian tradition that the church recognized as normative? And third, there was the criterion of whether a document had had continuous acceptance and usage by the church at large.”

There’s a lot of words there. But if you boil them down, I’m pretty sure they are saying that the early church decided certain books were true because they said what they wanted them to say. That’s the standard I should put my “faith” in? The storyteller likes the story?

And that’s evidently a sword that cut both ways. Because not only do they keep what they like, they evidently also reject what they don’t.

I asked, “What about the charge that [the Gospel of] Thomas was purposefully excluded by church councils in some sort of conspiracy to silence it?”

“That’s just not historically accurate,” came Metzger’s response. “What the synods and councils did in the fifth century and following was to ratify what already had been accepted by high and low Christians alike. It is not right to say that the Gospel of Thomas was excluded by some fiat on the part of a council; the right way to put it is, the Gospel of Thomas excluded itself! It did not harmonize with other testimony about Jesus that early Christians accepted as trustworthy.”

Confirmation bias, anyone? Any evidence that runs counter to my narrative will be rejected, not because I can show that it is inaccurate, but because it runs counter to my narrative. 

Building on a Shaky Foundation

Getting Strobel’s foundation solid is important because his whole book is structured in such a way that one argument builds on the conclusions of the one previous. But when the one previous leaves the reader feeling sketchy, not solid, it causes all the subsequent conclusions to be questionable. For example:

[The Character Test] looks at whether it was in the character of these writers to be truthful. Was there any evidence of dishonesty or immorality that might taint their ability or willingness to transmit history accurately?

Blomberg shook his head. “We simply do not have any reasonable evidence to suggest they were anything but people of great integrity,” he said.

This one is referring to the gospel writers. Forget that we don’t have any evidence that the men for whom they are named actually wrote them, let’s just take that as given so we can now focus on how much integrity they had. 

Interpolation? What Interpolation?

Again and again throughout Strobel’s narrative, I found myself underlying passages and dog-earing pages whenever he knit Bible verses together in such a way as to make a particularly irrefutable point. I mean, once he convinces me that the Bible is accurate, then anything the Bible says must be true, right?

Except Strobel fails to mention that there are many passages in the Bible which are interpolations -- little snippets that weren’t present when the book in question was originally written, but which were added later, typically by scribes, believers, or early church fathers, who wanted to help harmonize one part of the Bible with another. How many of Strobel’s Bible clinchers, I wondered, were or were disputed to be interpolations? 

Turns out, quite a few of them are. The first I came across was 1 Corinthians 15, which Strobel uses to clinch two arguments: one, that the oral tradition that most Bible writers used could be relied on for an accurate transmission of facts, and two, that Jesus was crucified sometime around A.D. 30. Here’s the relevant section:

“But perhaps the most important creed in terms of the historical Jesus is 1 Corinthians 15, where Paul uses technical language to indicate that he was passing along this oral tradition in relatively fixed form.”

Blomberg located the passage in his Bible and read it to me.

‘For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Peter, and then to the Twelve. After that, he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers at the same time, most of whom are still living, though some have fallen asleep. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles.’

“And here’s the point,” Blomberg said. “If the Crucifixion was as early as A.D. 30, Paul’s conversion was about 32. Immediately Paul was ushered into Damascus, where he met with a Christian named Ananias and some other disciples. His first meeting with the apostles in Jerusalem would have been about A.D. 35. At some point along there, Paul was given this creed, which had already been formulated and was being used in the early church.

“Now, here you have the key facts about Jesus’ death for our sins, plus a detailed list of those to whom he appeared in resurrected form -- all dating back to within two to five years of the events themselves!”

Wow. Very convincing. Except, of course, 1 Corinthians 15 is disputed by Bible historians as likely containing an interpolation. The earliest manuscript copy we have of 1 Corinthians dates to about A.D. 200, so there’s no telling what an “original” version of 1 Corinthians would look like and what parts of it were added as interpolations. But 1 Corinthians 15:3-11 is suspected because it contains information not contemporaneous with other writings of its supposed period, and it makes unsubstantiated claims (like Jesus appearing after death to more than 500 people) that not even the gospel writers thought important enough to include in their works.

What’s even more surprising is that even when one of Strobel’s experts acknowledges that something is an interpolation -- they still use the text as proof that what it says about Jesus is true (interpolation and all). Here’s the remarkable section where Strobel and his puppet discuss that famous passage by Josephus.

“But today there’s a remarkable consensus among both Jewish and Christian scholars that the passage as a whole is authentic, although there may be some interpolations.”

That’s a curious turn of phrase. The passage as a whole is authentic. What, exactly, does that mean? But Strobel doesn’t get hung up there. He asks a different question.

I raised an eyebrow. “Interpolations -- would you define what you mean by that?”

That means early Christian copyists inserted some phrases that a Jewish writer like Josephus would not have written,” Yamauchi said.

He pointed to a sentence in the book. “For instance, the first line says, ‘About this time there lived Jesus, a wise man.’ That phrase is not normally used of Jesus by Christians, so it seems authentic for Josephus. But the next phrase says, ‘if indeed one ought to call him a man.’ This implies Jesus was more than human, which appears to be an interpolation.”

I nodded to let him know I was following him so far.

“It goes on to say, ‘For he was one who wrought surprising feats and was a teacher of such people as accept the truth gladly. He won over many Jews and many of the Greeks.’ That seems to be quite in accord with the vocabulary Josephus uses elsewhere, and it’s generally considered authentic.

But then there’s this unambiguous statement, ‘He was the Christ.’ That seems to be an interpolation--”

“Because,” I interrupted, “Josephus says in his reference to James that Jesus was ‘called the Christ.’”

“That’s right,” said Yamauchi. “It’s unlikely Josephus would have flatly said Jesus was the Messiah here, when elsewhere he merely said he was considered to be the Messiah by his followers.

“The next part of the passage -- which talks about Jesus’ trial and crucifixion and the fact that his followers still loved him -- is unexceptional and considered genuine. Then there’s this phrase: ‘On the third day he appeared to them restored to life.’

“Again, this is a clear declaration of belief in the Resurrection, and thus it’s unlikely that Josephus wrote it. So these three elements seem to have been interpolations.”

“What’s the bottom line?” I asked.

“That the passage in Josephus probably was originally written about Jesus, although without those three points I mentioned. But even so, Josephus corroborates important information about Jesus: that he was the martyred leader of the church in Jerusalem and that he was a wise teacher who had established a wide and lasting following, despite the fact that he had been crucified under Pilate at the instigation of some of the Jewish leaders.”

So, in other words, the passage as a whole isn’t authentic, since only some of it was actually written by its original author. And those bits that weren’t written by him? Why, what do you know, they are the ones that support the narrative that Jesus was more than a man, was the Jewish Messiah, and was resurrected from the dead.

But it’s still evidence for all that somehow because, you know, the whole passage is authentic.

It’s True BECAUSE It’s Unbelievable

This one really makes my head hurt. Time and again, when something seems out of place or unbelievable in the Jesus narrative, Strobel and his stable of experts don’t view that as evidence against their contention. In fact, they view it as evidence FOR the contention.

“Jesus’ baptism is another example. You can explain why Jesus, who was without sin, allowed himself to be baptized, but why not make things easier by leaving it out altogether? On the cross Jesus cried out, ‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’ I would have been in the self-interest of the writers to omit that because it raises too many questions.”

And therefore they must be true. What other explanation could there be? I mean, after all, if they were concocting a story, why would they include such obviously troubling information?

Here’s another example, in response to the fact that many other ancient rabbis were reported to have worked miracles -- performing exorcisms and praying successfully for rain. Isn’t it possible that Jesus was “merely another example of a Jewish wonder worker”?

“...the radical nature of [Jesus’s] miracles distinguishes him. It didn’t just rain when he prayed for it; we’re talking about blindness, deafness, leprosy, and scoliosis being healed, storms being stopped, bread and fish being multiplied, sons and daughters being raised from the dead. This is beyond any parallels.”

See. It’s true because the claims are miraculous. How could such stories possibly be made up?

Here may be the stupidest one of them all.

First, I asked Lapides whether it’s possible that Jesus merely fulfilled the prophecies by accident. Maybe he’s just one of many throughout history who have coincidentally fit the prophetic fingerprint.

“Not a chance,” came his response. “The odds are so astronomical that they rule that out. Someone did the math and figured out that the probability of just eight prophecies being fulfilled is one chance in one hundred million billion. That number is millions of times greater than the total number of people who’ve ever walked the planet!”

Wow. Impressive. But Strobel can go one better.

I had studied this same statistical analysis by mathematician Peter W. Stoner when I was investigating the messianic prophecies for myself. Stoner also computed that the probability of fulfilling forty-eight prophecies was one chance in a trillion, trillion, trillion, trillion, trillion, trillion, trillion, trillion, trillion, trillion, trillion, trillion, trillion!

Our minds can’t comprehend a number that big. This is a staggering statistic that’s equal to the number of minuscule atoms in a trillion, trillion, trillion, trillion, billion universes the size of our universe!

“The odds alone say it would be impossible for anyone to fulfill the Old Testament prophecies,” Lapides concluded. “Yet Jesus -- and only Jesus throughout all of history -- managed to do it.”

So in other words -- it’s impossible, yet it happened. And, of course, it happened because it’s impossible.

And speaking of the impossible.

“I would argue that the hypothesis that God raised Jesus from the dead is not at all improbable. In fact, based on the evidence, it’s the best explanation for what happened. What is improbable is the hypothesis that Jesus rose naturally from the dead. That, I would agree, is outlandish. Any hypothesis would be more probable than saying the corpse of Jesus spontaneously came back to life.

“But the hypothesis that God raised Jesus from the dead doesn’t contradict science or any known facts of experience. All it requires is the hypothesis that God exists, and I think there are good independent reasons for believing that he does.”

With that Craig added this clincher: “As long as the existence of God is even possible, it’s possible that he acted in history by raising Jesus from the dead.”

With that Craig added this clincher: “As long as I say the impossible is possible, I can make up any explanation I want.”

Don’t Be Silly

Here’s the other end of that spectrum. When the miraculous supports what we want they must be true, but when it runs counter to our preferred narrative, then please, be serious.

Crossan also gives credence to what he calls the Cross Gospel. “Does that fare any better?” I asked.

“No, most scholars don’t give it credibility, because it includes such outlandishly legendary material. For instance, Jesus comes out of his tomb and he’s huge -- he goes up beyond the sky -- and the cross comes out of the tomb and actually talks! Obviously, the much more sober gospels are more reliable than anything found in this account.”

Yeah, those sober gospels. You know, the ones where Jesus simply raises people from the dead and walks on water.

Here’s another take on this theme:

I pointed out that Ian Wilson, in suggesting that Jesus may have used hypnosis to cure people who only believed they were possessed, said dismissively that no “realistic individual” would explain a state of possession “as the work of real demons.”

“To some degree, you find what you set out to find,” Collins said in response. “People who deny the existence of the supernatural will find some way, no matter how far-fetched, to explain a situation apart from the demonic.”

Yes, those who only believe the things that actual evidence supports (what Collins calls denying the existence of the supernatural) come up with all kinds of far-fetched ways to explain the phenomena around them. Because remember, proposing causes that align with evidence is far-fetched. Demons are not. 

A Vessel For His Holy Will

“Jesus thought he was the person appointed by God to bring in the climactic saving act of God in human history. He believed he was the agent of God to carry that out -- that he had been authorized by God, empowered by God, he spoke for God, and he was directed by God to do this task. So what Jesus said, God said. What Jesus did was the work of God.”

Strobel spends an entire chapter on this assertion -- that Jesus believed he was an agent of God. I’m not sure why, since history is replete with people who believed they were an agent of God who even Strobel would go out of his way to say were mistaken. Muhammed, Joseph Smith, L. Ron Hubbard, Jim Jones, Marshall Applewhite, etc.

But Strobel will spend another chapter making sure the argument is made that Jesus couldn’t possibly be deluded or crazy (or, I guess, reviewing that list above, a con-man).

“Other deluded people will have misperceptions,” he added. “They think people are watching them or trying to get them when they’re not. They’re out of contact with reality. They misperceive the actions of other people and accuse them of doing things they have no intention of ever doing. Again, we don’t see this in Jesus. He was obviously in contact with reality. He wasn’t paranoid, although he rightfully understood that there were some very real dangers around him. 

“Or people with psychological difficulties may have thinking disorders -- they can’t carry on a logical conversation, they’ll jump to faulty conclusions, they’re irrational. We don’t see this in Jesus. He spoke clearly, powerfully, and eloquently. He was brilliant and had absolutely amazing insights into human nature.”

Yeah. So did Hamlet. And that’s kind of my point. The evidence points more logically to a fictional character embodied with this kind of clarity, power, and eloquence. And how can you say with a straight face that Jesus both believed he was an agent of God and that he was “in contact with reality”?

If It Ain’t In the Book, It Didn’t Happen

This one is maybe the most insidious of them all. 

“Of course,” he quickly added, “that doesn’t explain all of Jesus’ healings. Often a psychosomatic healing takes time; Jesus’ healings were spontaneous. Many times people who are healed psychologically have their symptoms return a few days later, but we don’t see any evidence of this. And Jesus healed conditions like lifelong blindness and leprosy, for which a psychosomatic explanation isn’t very likely.

We’re deep into Strobel’s rabbit hole by this point -- and he believes he has already put to rest any question about whether or not we can trust the veracity of the things written in the New Testament. If it’s in the book, it happened.

But this one goes even farther than that. But we don’t see any evidence of this. Meaning, I guess, that if something isn’t in the book, that we can now say that it did not happen. Obviously everyone Jesus healed stayed healed, right? I mean, if the healing didn’t stick for someone, certainly they would have documented that in the book. Cause, you know, the author is an unbiased reporter of everything that happened.

Apologetics

Eventually, perhaps inevitably, Strobel’s book decays into pure apologetics -- making up convoluted answers to get around really simple philosophical challenges to God’s benevolence or existence.

Hell

“Having said that, hell is not a place where people are consigned because they were pretty good blokes but just didn’t believe the right stuff. They’re consigned there, first and foremost, because they defy their Maker and want to be at the center of the universe.”

Really? Please explain to me the difference between someone not believing the right stuff and someone who is defying his Maker. If he’s pretty good bloke who doesn’t believe God is real, doesn’t that mean he’s defying his Maker?

“Hell is not filled with people who have already repented, only God isn’t gentle enough or good enough to let them out. It’s filled with people who, for all eternity, still want to be at the center of the universe and who persist in their God-defying rebellion.”

Is it? How did you determine that? And if true, does that mean that if I repent after being tortured with God’s red hot poker that He’ll let me out of hell? And that there are therefore people still in hell who still “want” to defy God after being tortured with His red hot poker?

“What is God to do?”

Yes, what is God to do? I can see how hard it must be for the all-knowing, all-powerful creator of the universe to have his hands tied like this by all these pesky humans.

“If he says it doesn’t matter to him, God is no longer a God to be admired. He’s either amoral or positively creepy. For him to act in any other way in the face of such blatant defiance would be to reduce God himself.”

I love it when the apologist comes so close to the inescapable conclusion but still can’t leap across that final distance. Yes, such a situation would reduce God completely out of existence, wouldn’t it?

Slavery

How can Jesus’ failure to push for the abolition of slavery be squared with God’s love for all people?

Since when does God love all people? Read the Old Testament.

“Why didn’t Jesus stand up and shout, ‘Slavery is wrong’?” I asked. “Was he morally deficient for not working to dismantle an institution the demeaned people who were made in the image of God?”

Carson straightened up in his chair. “I really think that people who raise that objection are missing the point,” he said. “If you’ll permit me, I’ll set the stage by talking about slavery, ancient and modern, because in our culture the issue is understandably charged with overtones that it didn’t have in the ancient world.”

Overtones. Carson is about to argue that biblical slavery wasn’t as bad as the slavery of the American South, but before he does that, let me plant this flag. Wouldn’t Jesus know that the worse form of slavery was coming? Isn’t it kind of like letting the burning house that will spread to burn down the whole neighborhood continue to burn because, you know, one house burned down isn’t as big a deal as a whole neighborhood? Someone with the knowledge that the whole neighborhood is at risk, and who has the means to put the original housefire out, and who does not act is, oh, what the phrase? Either amoral or positively creepy?

I gestured for him to continue. “Please go ahead,” I said.

“In his book Race and Culture, African-American scholar Thomas Sowell points out that every major world culture until the modern period, without exception, has had slavery,” Carson explained.

Really. Huh. If only there was a God that could’ve put an end to all of that.

“While it could be tied to military conquests, usually slavery served an economic function. They didn’t have bankruptcy laws, so if you got yourself into terrible hock, you sold yourself and/or your family into slavery. As it was discharging a debt, slavery was also providing work. It wasn’t necessarily all bad; at least it was an option for survival.”

It wasn’t necessarily all bad. Does that mean good? Or still bad? It's kind of hard to tell from all the shade you’re throwing over it. I mean, if slavery serves an economic function, and provides work, how bad could it be? Right?

“Please understand me: I’m not trying to romanticize slavery in any way. However, in Roman times there were menial laborers who were slaves, and there were also others who were the equivalent of distinguished Ph.D.’s who were teaching families.”

Okay, good. Glad we cleared that up. So as long as your slave is well educated and is teaching your family, then it’s okay to own him. Right?

“In American slavery, though, all blacks and only blacks were slaves. That was one of the peculiar horrors of it, and it generated an unfair sense of black inferiority that many of us continue to fight to this day.

“Now let’s look at the Bible. In Jewish society, under the Law everyone was to be freed every Jubilee. In other words, there was a slavery liberation every seventh year. Whether or not things actually worked out that way, this was nevertheless what God said, and this was the framework in which Jesus was brought up.”

There go those pesky humans again. God wanted all the slaves freed every seventh year, but those damn humans just wouldn’t do it! 

And what’s that thing at the end about Jesus being “brought up”? Was he not God? Did he not have an understanding of the universe that transcended the specific cultural milieu of his century and geography?

“But you have to keep your eye on Jesus’ mission. Essentially, he did not come to overturn the Roman economic system, which included slavery. He came to free men and women from their sins. And here’s my point: what his message does is transform people so they begin to love God with all their heart, soul, mind, and strength and to love their neighbor as themselves. Naturally, that has an impact on the idea of slavery.

No, I guess not. But then again, He wasn’t God, and Strobel is more or less admitting that here. He -- like us all -- was a product of his century and geography.

Three Days and Three Nights

I wanted to ask about one other commonly cited discrepancy. “Jesus said in Matthew 12:40, ‘For as Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of a huge fish, so the Son of Man will be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.’ However, the gospels report that Jesus was really in the tomb one full day, two full nights, and part of two days. Isn’t this an example of Jesus being wrong in not fulfilling his own prophecy?”

“Some well-meaning Christians have used this verse to suggest Jesus was crucified on Wednesday rather than on Friday, in order to get the full time in there!” Craig said. “But most scholars recognize that according to early Jewish time-reckoning, any part of a day counted as a full day. Jesus was in the tomb Friday afternoon, all day Saturday, and on Sunday morning -- under the way the Jews conceptualized time back then, this would have counted as three days.

Uh huh. But still not three nights, right? Unless by “early Jewish time-reckoning” Friday nights count as two nights.

“Again,” he concluded, “that’s just another example of how many of these discrepancies can be explained or minimized with some background knowledge or just by thinking them through with an open mind.”

The Jesus Seminar

I think the most laughable part of Strobel’s book is when he attempts to address the criticisms of The Jesus Seminar.

Now that I had heard powerfully convincing and well-reasoned evidence from the scholars I questioned for this book, I needed to turn my attention to the decidedly contrary opinions of a small group of academics who have been the subject of a whirlwind of news coverage.

Strobel then goes on the describe The Jesus Seminar, which he calls a “self-selected group that represents a miniscule percentage of New Testament scholars,” which set out to determine which quotes attributed to Jesus in the New Testament could be supported with evidence that a man named Jesus had actually said them. 

In the end they concluded Jesus did not say 82 percent of what the gospels attribute to him. Most of the remaining 18 percent was considered somewhat doubtful, with only 2 percent of Jesus’ sayings confidently determined to be authentic.

But Strobel is a journalist, remember? He’s going to ruthlessly cross-examine the witnesses and let only the truth emerge.

I needed to know if there was any credible rebuttal evidence to refute these troubling and widely publicized opinions. Were the Jesus Seminar’s findings solidly based on unbiased scholarly research, or were they like Passeri’s ill-fated testimony: well meaning but ultimately unsupported?

Passeri is a witness in one of the legal proceedings Strobel covered as a court reporter -- a pastiche he uses throughout the book to support his contention that he is tackling this Jesus question with the same kind of rigor and scrutiny. Except…

For answers, I made the six-hour drive to St. Paul, Minnesota, to confer with Dr. Gregory Boyd, the Ivy League-educated theology professor whose books and articles have challenged the Jesus Seminar head-on.

That’s right. Rather than interview someone from the Jesus Seminar, in order to determine if the Jesus Seminar assertions were true, Strobel decided to interview someone who thinks they are not.

I frankly should have stopped reading right there.

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This post first appeared on Eric Lanke's blog, an association executive and author. You can follow him on Twitter @ericlanke or contact him at eric.lanke@gmail.com.

Dragons - Chapter 72 (DRAFT)

When I got back to the office my next steps seemed clear.

“Hey, Ruthie, you got a minute?”

Two minutes later Ruthie and I were walking into Mary’s office, Ruthie closing the door behind us. Mary was just getting back from a business lunch herself. She plunked her car keys down on her desk and looked at us suspiciously as she began pulling her laptop out of her Coach handbag, beige like the pant suit she was wearing.

“What’s up?” she asked.

I told her as succinctly as I could what Gerald was planning. As I recall, I got it all into one sentence.

“Gerald just offered me a job at the company he’s started to steal your biggest client away from you.”

The words more or less froze Mary in her tracks, but the look on her face told me that they barely registered with her.

“Say that again,” she said.

I exchanged a cautious look with Ruthie and she gave me a motherly nod.

“I said, ‘Gerald just offered me a job at the company he’s started to steal our biggest client away from us.’”

Mary’s next reaction surprised even me. She laughed. Her eyes and her arms gave an appeal to the merciful God in Heaven and she laughed, not loudly and not with relish, but with a strange kind of satisfied resignation.

“Have a seat,” she said, motioning me to one of her visitor chairs. And then, “Ruthie, ask Don to come down here and make sure we are not disturbed.”

I took the chair she had indicated and watched her continue and complete the process of docking her laptop in its station and powering it up.

“Mary--”

“No,” she said, holding the palm of one hand up to me and using the fingers of the other to type in her password. “No, Alan, Wait for Don to get here. Please.”

She didn’t sound angry, but she did sound serious. I didn’t know what she thought was going to happen when Don got there, but it wasn’t going to be fun and games. Not knowing what else to say, I sat there silently and watched Mary go to work on her computer. Her screen was at a difficult angle, and I didn’t want to crane my neck, but from what I could see it looked like she was accessing personnel records of some kind.

Don appeared long before I would’ve expected him. He must have been in the neighborhood, not all the way on the other side of the office in his Enormous Pod, or the conference room that adjoined it.

“What’s up?” he asked, shutting Mary’s door behind him.

Mary spun in her chair, very much like the boss had just arrived. “Have a seat, Don. Alan, tell Don what you just told me.”

I watched as Don eased his bulk into the second visitor chair, the bolts that held it together straining but holding firm against his mass. He turned and looked at me with his bloodshot eyes and I repeated what I had now said two times before.

At first, Don seemed to have no reaction to my words at all. He gave Mary a sidelong glance and I saw Mary return a knowing nod, and then, quite unexpectedly, Don began to interrogate me.

I’m not sure what else to call it. There was a sudden barrage of questions, digging into every aspect of my conversation with Gerald. Where we were, what was said, who was around us, what might’ve been overheard. A crime had been committed, Don was the police investigator, and he was going to get to the bottom of it. Under the withering assault, I told Don how Gerald had first approached me in the office this morning, laying out his plan, and then inviting me out to lunch to discuss the details.

“And why did you choose to go to lunch with him?”

I was ready for that line of questioning. Don and Mary, both, were the kind of people who jealously protected what they had, and saw enemies and plots around every corner. 

“To get more information,” I replied quickly, pitching the tone of my voice to convey my unwavering loyalty to them and their company. “I wanted to see who else he had been talking to. To find out how far this betrayal went. I hoped it didn’t go any further than Gerald and Paul Webster, but if it did, I needed to know so I could warn you.”

I was the first one to mention Paul Webster’s name, and from the look on Don’s face you would’ve thought I had let off a stink bomb under his chair. His wide nose wrinkled on his fleshy face, and it looked like he might vomit.

“Yes,” Mary said. “Paul Webster. Don, we’re going to have to give Mister Webster a call.”

Don nodded, swallowing back his gorge and getting himself under control. His questions began again, as fast and furious as before. It began to feel very much like he was trying to catch me in a trap. I did the best I could to avoid them, which wasn’t too hard because I was essentially telling them the truth. The only thing from the whole episode that I held back was the phone call I had made to my wife, seeking her advice and what I should do. They must never know that I had even halfway seriously considered Gerald’s offer. That, I knew, would spell my doom as much as Gerald’s.

Eventually, the interrogation ended. Don fell into an uncomfortable silence, his pudgy fingers gripping the arms of his chair.

“Okay, Alan,” Mary said. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention. That will be all.”

I looked at her. While I had been sweating under Don’s bright lights she had been busy typing on her keyboard, printing a handful of documents, and paper clipping them together into a pair of identical and unlabelled folders.

“Ummm, okay,” I said. “What happens now?”

“Go back to your office,” she told me gently, the way a parent might speak to a child they intended to spare from something grown-up and grisly. “Don’t speak to anyone. Go back to your office, close your door, and don’t come out until I come to get you.”

Next to me, Don was lifting himself out of his chair. When the difficult maneuver was completed he stood beside me, evidently willing to serve as my escort if necessary.

“What are you going to do?” I asked Mary, rising to my own feet. “Are you going to fire Gerald?”

Mary remained seated behind her desk, looking up at me with her best poker face. “We’ll discuss it when I come to meet you in your office. Now go.”

I looked at Don and he gave me a stern look, extending an arm to begin the process of directing me towards the door. 

Not knowing what else to do I complied, leaving Mary’s office by the same door I had entered. Whatever confidence I had brought in there with me, I was taking none of it back out. Everything that had happened had felt wrong, and I had no idea what was going to happen next.

“Ruthie,” Don said as he shut Mary’s door behind us. “Will you make sure Alan makes it back to his office and stays there?”

“Yes,” Ruthie said, springing suddenly to her feet and extending a hand to me like I was lost on an elementary school field trip.

I looked at her hand, the latest ring Desmond had given her sparkling on one of her fingers.

“I can find my own way,” I said, defiantly, and walked away.

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“Dragons” is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. For more information, go here.

This post first appeared on Eric Lanke's blog, an association executive and author. You can follow him on Twitter @ericlanke or contact him at eric.lanke@gmail.com.

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