The Veritas Conflict (30 page)

“I have been praying about this nonstop since we found these documents yesterday,” Edward said. “I feel as if we are on the cusp of something extraordinary, something the Lord has long planned for just such a time as this. Just now the Lord dropped a Scripture reference in my mind: 2 Kings 2:19–22. But I can’t remember what that passage is. Wait a moment.”

He turned awkwardly in his chair, and pulled a Bible out of the dish rack on the counter beside him. He caught Ian’s amused expression and gave a sheepish smile. “I had to set it somewhere. Well, it gives new meaning to ‘washed with the Word of God,’ correct?”

Ian laughed. Edward grinned and flipped through the dog-eared pages. “Okay. Here we are.

“The men of the city said to Elisha, ‘Look, our lord, this town is well situated, as you can see, but the water is bad and the land is unproductive.’

‘Bring me a new bowl,’ he said, ‘and put salt in it.’ So they brought it to him.

Then he went out to the spring and threw the salt into it, saying, ‘This is what the Lord says: “I have healed this water. Never again will it cause death or make the land unproductive.” ’ And the water has remained wholesome to this day, according to the word Elisha had spoken.”

Edward looked up at his guests. “Does that mean anything to you?”

After a frozen moment, Mansfield cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, God told me much the same thing in a dream the other night. Whatever it means, I don’t think we should waste any time.”

He drummed his fingers on the tabletop a moment, then turned to Ian. “We need
to find out if Harvard received other grants and endowments with Christian stipulations. And whether Harvard has in fact never used that money for its intended purpose. It will probably take a lot of time to dig into this properly. At least several dozen hours tracking down the archived documents on Harvard’s end.”

Ian’s brow instantly furrowed, and Mansfield patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Ian, I don’t intend to work you into an early grave. But that young woman I met last week in the Christian Fellowship group—I’m thinking she might be a perfect answer to this quandary.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

C
LASS HAD BEEN IN SESSION FOR ONLY TEN MINUTES
, and already Claire had a headache. She looked down at her notes. Existentialism—There are no objective standards or rules to govern our decisions; all existence is based on individual, subjective choices of which standards to accept or reject from moment to moment.

She knew that this concept was wrong but had no idea how to take it apart. She sat glumly in her chair, listening.

Professor Kwong was writing on the board. “Existentialists conclude that because people freely choose which decisions to make, without guidance from any standards or rules, they are totally responsible for those choices. The downside of total freedom is total responsibility. Existentialists actually note that because individuals are
forced
to choose for themselves, this freedom and responsibility are in some ways a weight they would rather not have. These philosophers say that people are condemned to be free. If people attempt to flee from this freedom and responsibility by embracing objective standards or rules that help them make decisions, they are actually just deceiving themselves.

“This is why so many existentialist writings are so heavy—as you may have noticed from the readings I assigned. In their view, life is simply a series of experiences and choices, so confronting the most difficult subjects—the most extreme forms of human life—will provide the deepest experiences.

“Now, what does this philosophy have to say about right and wrong?” When no hands were raised, he called on a girl in the back.

“Well, it says that there isn’t any real right or wrong. It’s up to you to decide what is right or wrong in each situation.”

“And what are the consequences of those choices? How would this work for moral decision making?” Professor Kwong looked at the back row. “Niles?”

Claire turned in time to see a ruggedly handsome blond student put his hand down. “Well, for one thing we wouldn’t be shackled by some outmoded sense of religious guilt.”

Claire sighed.
How come the cute ones are all messed up?

“Existentialism,” Niles continued, “says that you as an individual are completely responsible for your choices. Which is
good
because that means you’ll be careful with
the choices you make. Which means your choices will be the right ones for that situation.”

The professor clasped his hands behind his back. “So you agree with the existentialist philosophy?”

“It makes great sense. Every moral decision you come across will probably be a bit different from the last one, and you bear the responsibility for making the right decision in
this
situation.”

But without any standards, how do you know which decision to make?
Almost without thinking, Claire raised her hand.

“Claire?”

“Uh—” she took a deep breath and turned to look at Niles. “I guess what I’m wondering is: If you don’t have any standards to rely on, how do you know which decision to make?”

“What do you mean? The same way you make any decision. You just know what’s right to do—what’s right for you.”

Claire shook her head, confused. “But that doesn’t make any sense! Without a rule to go by,
how
do you know?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you need a rule to tell you what to do. Suppose you saw a person beating up a child in a store. What’s the right thing to do?”

Claire felt herself blushing. “Well, stop them, of course.”

“See? You didn’t need a rule to tell you that. You just knew.”

“But—”

“But what? It’s obvious. Just use your human reason.”

Claire glanced at the professor. He showed no signs of stopping the discussion. The other students were listening with interest. She screwed up her courage.

“But what about cases where the decision isn’t obvious? Like, say that the person isn’t beating up the kid but is just giving her a hard spanking in the parking lot. She’s the parent, she presumably knows her kid—but you’re a little uncomfortable watching it happen. Existentialism says you just sort of … have to make a choice without any standards to go by?”

“And what rules or standards do you refer to for
that
one?” Niles said. “It’s not like city code number eighteen hundred says, ‘Thou shalt stop a spanking in progress in a grocery store parking lot.” You just have to rely on instinct. What
else
would you rely on?”

Well, prayer, for one thing
. Claire could see all heads turn toward her, like a classroom version of a tennis match. She wasn’t about to say her real answer out loud. Why didn’t someone jump in and help her? She shot a glance across the room. Brad’s seat was empty.

“Well …” she floundered, then grasped thankfully at a counterquestion that
popped to mind. “What happens if
you
rely on instinct and someone else relies on another way of making decisions? You could end up with two completely different outcomes. One of you stops the mom from spanking the child; the other walks on by. How could both be right?”

The heads turned the other way. Claire breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well, obviously, the two different people bear the responsibility for their different choices.” Niles shrugged. “What was right for one person wasn’t right for the other person, I suppose.”

Claire’s head was starting to swim again. Her confusion must have shown on her face, because Niles jumped on it.

“Look, the whole point of existentialism is that because different standards supply conflicting advice, you can’t rely on some simple rule. You have to make individual decisions case by case. And in this case, what’s right for
me
is to stop the mom from spanking her child because I think that’s child abuse. But what’s right for
you
may be to walk on by and pretend you didn’t see anything. Then we both have to live with the consequences of that decision.”

The heads turned back to Claire. The silence lengthened until Professor Kwong coughed and took back control of the discussion. Claire could feel Jo looking at her sideways, feel the almost pitying smile on her face. As the professor went on to the next point, Claire sat red faced and glum. How on
earth
was she ever going to handle this class?

Niles stood as the class broke up. Students were chattering all around him, but he didn’t join in. He rarely did.

He looked over at the girl as he stuffed his notebook into his satchel. She was pretty cute. Too bad she was so misguided.

He snorted in derision as he replayed their debate over spanking. Everyone knew it was wrong. Except his parents, of course.
Spare the rod and spoil the child
. They had
that
down to a fine art, not that they would ever have done it in a parking lot where anyone could see.

They had beaten him until he was black and blue, and did anyone from their prim and proper church ever lift a finger or ask a question? No, of course not. They were too busy singing their hymns about the Good News to notice the tears of a little boy in the pew beside them. Too busy passing hellfire judgment on others to notice the cancer in their own souls.

All those religious fanatics were so dangerous, clinging together in their churches, schools, and bookstores, hiding behind their little facades of piety. It was all meaningless, all smoke and mirrors.

He stalked out of the room, hardly watching where he was going. The last sermon he had heard at their sickening church was on proselytizing. He had been a teenager, and completely disinterested, but he’d understood the gist at least.

Niles gagged at the idea of spreading such hypocrisy.

“Hey.” Claire dumped her backpack on the floor and flopped lengthwise across her bed. She stared over at Sherry, who was logging off her e-mail account. “Let me guess whose e-mail you were reading.”

Sherry turned in her chair and shrugged, her cheeks slightly flushed. “I’m sure you’d be right.”

“If only someone would write me witty and romantic e-mails six times a day as Stefan does for you …” She grinned suddenly. “I would probably go stark raving mad.” She bounced up off of the bed. “I’ve got to get studying, or I’m never going to be ready for midterms. I have no idea what I’m doing in philosophy, and I haven’t even looked at my biology textbook in a week!”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. My literature class is awful. Did I tell you we had to read an entire novel each week?”

“No kidding? That’s as bad as that stupid religion cross-reg class I tried to take. And you already had a really tough schedule. You’re one of the smartest people I know, but still …”

“I don’t know what I was thinking. My accounting class alone was already too advanced. But people keep saying Parkinson is the best, so I figured if the professor was good I could hack it, but now I have all these tests coming up at once.…” Sherry’s voice died away as she looked at the thick stack of accounting workbooks on her desk.

“Well, listen. Why don’t you come to lunch with some of the HCF folks after history tomorrow? Alison and Doug are both business students and I’m pretty sure Alison had that accounting class last year. She might still have her notes.”

“You think they’d share?”

“They’re both pretty generous. And it’s not like there’s anything wrong with sharing class notes.” Claire grinned. “That
is
why the school arranges study groups for most classes, after all. It’s not cheating, not like those files and files of tests that some folks keep!”

“Good point.” Sherry stood up, restless.

“So you’ll join us for lunch? The others would love to spend some time with my elusive roommate.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks for thinking of me.”

A warmth grew in Claire’s belly as she watched her roommate’s firm nod.
Finally!
It would make such a difference once Sherry got to know the HCF folks. She just needed friends who would—

“You know what?” Sherry walked toward the phone on the wall by Claire’s desk “I’m going to mention this to Stefan. He’s no accounting wizard, but since lots of his friends—and his dad—are in the business program, I’ll see if he has any ideas, too.”

Ian gulped the last of his coffee and rose from his seat. Two women who had been circling the packed coffee area like vultures descended on the table. “Are you leaving?”

“It’s all yours.”

As he quickly cleared his table, Ian noticed that one of the women had a map and a book about Cambridge under her arm, and he wondered how they had found this little coffee shop. It was tucked away on the second floor of the Coop, the giant bookstore in Harvard Square, and usually frequented by students.

Though a number of students had papers and textbooks laid out before them, several were clearly there to avoid studying. A rack with dozens of magazines stood just outside the coffee shop area. Ian watched a student close a textbook and go pull a magazine off the rack. He smiled to himself as she returned to her coffee. He had fallen into that trap on many a day.

He passed behind her table and his eye fell on the article she was reading. With a start, he looked closer, then quickly made his way over to the magazine rack.

TWENTY-NINE

T
HE NEXT MORNING
,
BEFORE
E
UROPEAN HISTORY CLASS
, Mansfield scanned the article with raised eyebrows. “Well, what do you know. I wonder if they’ll win it.”

“They’re related, aren’t they?”

“Oh yes. The CEO, Victor, is Anton’s brother. I believe Anton is known to be a sort of strategist and advisor for his brother’s business ventures, although he hasn’t yet been enticed enough to leave the faculty and go into business with the family.”

“Too bad.”

Mansfield handed back the magazine. He pushed open the door to the classroom and walked in, nodding to a few students who entered at the same time. “You could say that. Sometimes I think he stays only to be perverse. If the business really is doing that well, you would think he’d jump ship and go triple his salary, wouldn’t you?”