by Young
Overhearing our conversation, Ms. Saadoune voiced, “There are professors at the Sorbonne that challenged this theory. In one of our seminars Professor Pierre Perrault argued that even if God/Allah’s command and morality correlate in this world, they may not do so in other possible worlds.
“Besides, the Euthyphro dilemma, proposed by Plato, presented a conflict that threatened to leave the morality subject to the whims of God or to challenge his omnipotence. The divine command theory has also been criticized for its apparent incompatibility with the omnibenevolence of God, moral autonomy, and religious pluralism; even if some scholars attempted to defend the theory from these challenges.”
We stared dumbfounded at the female Muslim libertarian. None of us knew of this musicologist’s extensive philosophical knowledge until now.
Aaron broke the silence. “What is the Euthyphro dilemma? Do enlightened us,” he entreated.
“The Euthyphro dilemma was proposed in Plato’s dialogue between Socrates and Euthyphro. In the scene, Socrates and Euthyphro were discussing the nature of piety when Socrates presented the dilemma. The question was: ‘Is X good because God commands it, or does God command X because it is good?’
“Is the pious loved by the gods because it is pious, or is it pious because it is loved by the gods? — Plato, Euthyphro.
“The Euthyphro dilemma can elicit the response that an action is good because God commands the action, or that God commands an action because it is good. If the first is chosen, it will imply that whatever God commands must be good: even if he commanded someone to inflict suffering, then inflicting suffering must be moral. If the latter is chosen, then morality is no longer dependent on God, thereby defeating the divine command theory.”
Mariam paused to look at our reactions before she resumed, “Additionally if God is subject to an external law, he is not sovereign or omnipotent. That would challenge the orthodox conception of God or Allah. Proponents of the Euthyphro dilemma might claim that divine command theory is obviously wrong because either answer challenges the ability of God to give moral laws.”
We stared at the female, speechless.
Triqueros dissipated the quietude. He commented, “The divine command theory is featured in the ethics of many religions, like Judaism, Islam, the Bahá’í Faith, and Christianity. This theory is also a part of several older polytheistic religions.”
He paused for an opinion. None came.
Victor resumed, “In ancient Athens, it was commonly held that moral truth was tied directly to divine commands, and religious piety was almost equivalent to morality. Although Christianity does not entail divine command theory, it is commonly associated with it. It is a plausible Christian theory because the traditional concept of God as the creator of the universe supports the idea that he created moral truths. This theory is supported by Christians; that God is all-powerful, therefore God created moral truths rather than moral truths existed independently of ‘Him.’ This would be inconsistent with ‘His’ omnipotence.”
Before anyone could counter, the professor re-commenced, “We can have a lengthy and never-ending debate on this subject, but for now, I suggest we spend our time wisely and enjoy the historical beauty of this medersa. By hook or by crook, the ancients might enlighten us as we peruse these primordial halls of distinction.”
Mid-September 2014
David’s Email to Me and Andy (Part One)
Hi guys,
Sorry I haven’t been in touch sooner. I was away in the Netherlands for a family vacation and to attend my school alumnus reunion. At the event, I caught up with an ex-fellow secret society member, Boriss. The two of you might find his information interesting. He said that the Enlightened Royal Oracle Society/Valkyrian Templers Abbey is still in existence, but its mission has transformed. Although sex education continues to be a part of the progressive curriculum and remains a student exchange organization; the recruits concealed assignments are no longer a part of the program. E.R.O.S. is no longer the fraternity we know and experience. Now that we are living in a different day and age, the old had made way for the new.
Young, regarding your angel encounters, you are the only person I know who profess to have an intimate relationship with a seraphic being. I am envious of your enlightening experience, and I wish I am as venerated as you; to bask in such reverential bliss. The closest I came to witness a Supernatural occurrence was at my second Household. This incident was associated with magick.
End of July 1968
Romantik Hotel Wilden Mann, Lucerne, Switzerland
My mother’s arrival in London town was nothing short of a Chinese culinary fanfare. Like many dotting Asian parents of her day, she and her entourage delivered luggage full of Malaysian nosh and munchies to me; as if I was an undernourished child, deprived of healthy sustenance. Although I missed the spicy Malaysian cuisine, I was not an avid cook and the dry goods ended in Uncle James’ kitchen than within my rumbling stomach.
The two weeks, ten countries European tour was a whirlwind of unimpressionable activities. All I recall were ascending and descending the forty-seater tour bus at this or that famous historical site. We scrambled pass diachronic monuments at lightning speed, only to stop for photo ops before we headed to the next destination. Every meal was an Asian déjeuner instead of savoring each town and country’s native gastronomical savoir-faire. I felt as if I had never set foot out of Kuala Lumpur.
Atop this wearisome sojourn, I missed Andy desperately, and I longed for the trip to end so I could return to my lover. My aunties and cousins did nothing to ease my trepidations, especially when they bantered for information about my beau. Even though I countered their advances with grins and smiles; and allowed their speculations to run havoc; my brain was taxed. By the end of the day, I was mental, emotionally and physically drained.
I would sneak out of my hotel room for a walk on the wild side after they had retired to bed. My night escapades were my temporary satisfaction before I resumed another day of fraudulent countenance to their never-ending chitter-chatter.
Mrs. Foong, like any intuitive mother, detected my gloom, no matter how well I forge a smiley face. One evening after a hearty Chinese meal, we had a heart to heart chat.
Conversation with Mom
“You’ve grown into your own,” mother remarked earnestly. “Are you enjoying school?”
“I can’t wait to return to Daltonbury Hall,” I answered cheerfully.
“Do you miss Andy?” she questioned.
I nodded and looked away sheepishly.
“James told me a lot about Andy. He said he’s a wonderful man and is good for you. Is that true?”
I nodded again and remained silent.
“You must introduce Andy to me when we return to London,” mother evinced.
I blurted doltishly, “You’ll like him, mom. He is intelligent, charming, elegant and…, I love him.”
Mother gazed at me before she remarked. “From James’ description, I have no doubt that I will grow to like this young man.”
She paused before she added, “My dear boy, I want you to be happy. If Andy makes you happy, I’m fine with this relationship; even if your father is peevish by your homosexuality.”
“Did you tell dad about Andy?” I queried.
“I haven’t told him anything.” She wavered before she assured, “And I’m not going to.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
She continued, “He doesn’t need to know. The less he knows, the better.”
As if a gust of wind had dissipated the dead weight in my psyche, my anxiety evaporated instantaneously, and my buoyancy returned with a vengeance. I wanted to leap with joy and to give my mother a bear hug, yet I remained solemn to appraise my stroke of good fortune. I had indeed matured from an exuberant adolescent to a dignified young adult; my mentors and guardians would be proud of. That evening, I felt blessed by the gods in more ways than one. Especially to my dearest mother who had given me more than her fair share of
unconditional love.
My psychotic jubilation lasted for a brief second before mother inquired, “What are your plans after you graduate from Daltonbury Hall at the end of this year?”
Taken aback by this unexpected question, I muttered, “I, err…, plan to remain in school to be a Big-Brother to a Freshman. Then I will apply to several UK art colleges to pursue a degree in fashion design.”
I waited for my mother’s reaction. None came. She beseeched me to continue.
“You know, mom, fashion is my love, and nothing will stop me from becoming a fashion designer,” I asserted.
“You know your father will not approve of your career choice. That said, leave the old man for me to deal with. I’ll help you achieve your goal. He is a handful, but I’ll convince him to come around; even if he kicks up a big fuss and accuses me of spoiling you to the nth degree,” my mother ascertained.
“Thank you, mom! You are the best mother I can ever wish for. You know me better than I know myself,” I accredited my beloved mother.
“I love you very much. It is my motherly duty to see you happy,” Mrs. Foong affirmed. “Now, tell me more about Andy.”
Caught off guard by her request, I did not know how to begin.
She emboldened, “I know he is a gallant young man and he loves you very much.”
I nodded.
“I love Andy very much, mom. I miss him terribly,” I declared woefully.
I plucked up the courage to ask my mother. “I thought you came to separate my lover and me.”
“I will only do that if Andy treats you horribly. Since James gave me an excellent report of your boyfriend, I want to meet him in person.”
I declared, “Mom, you will love Andy like I do. He is the most altruistic person I’ve ever met. He’s kind, gentle, loving….”
Mother interjected, “I know, I know. Even though your aunties and cousins have reservations, I am open to meet the boy. But first, I must hear directly from you that you’re truly in love with Andy before I agree to see him.”
She hesitated before she questioned, “What do you plan to do when Andy goes to university? Is he pursuing his higher studies in London, to be with you?”
I did not know how to respond. I prevaricated, “We will make that decision when the time comes. For now, we are happy to be together, and your approval means a lot to us.”
She said amusingly, “I haven’t given my final approval yet. I have to meet the boy before I can bestow my blessing.”
“Mom, I know you will. You’re the best mother ever!” I quipped and kissed her cheeks.
With that, we bid each other bonne nuit so we could have a good night’s rest in readiness for another day of maniacal traveling.
Under Kapellbrücke (Chapel Bridge)
I bounced out of the Romantik as light as a lark. My week of worries was for naught. As per Uncle James’ advice, my mother was merely happy to spend time with moi.
It was midnight when I skipped chipperly towards the wooden footbridge that spans diagonally across the Reussin, in the city of Lucerne. This unique bridge, named after the nearby St. Peter’s Chapel contains several interior paintings dating back to the 17th century. The Kapellbrücke, more commonly known as the Chapel Bridge was and remains to this day the oldest wooden covered bridge in Europe, and the oldest surviving truss bridge in the world. This renowned structure is Lucerne’s symbol, and by day it is one of Switzerland’s main tourist attraction.
When night falls, this bridge transforms itself into a sleazy pick-up joint for men seeking the company of other men. Ari, Andy’s brother, had mentioned to us the sordid activities that went on under the infamous Kapellbrücke.
My overactive libido strived for attention after a week without my lover’s company. I remembered Ari’s mention of this tawdry site and to discover firsthand if his report was factual; I proceeded to give this venue a try.
I noticed the silhouette of an attractive man, leaning against a wooden balustrade under the dim lights along Chapel Bridge. The sensual aroma of his cigar drew me to him.
He gave me a seductive grin, and he muttered in heavy Swiss accented French, “D’où viens-tu?”
I had no clue what he said.
“I don’t speak French or German,” I answered in English.
He exhaled a puff of smoke before he replied, “Je ne parle pas anglais, mais il n’a pas d’importance. Vous êtes très mignon.”
Not comprehending a word, I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders.
Without warning, he pulled me to him and probed my mouth open to receive his invading tongue. Although I was astonished by his precariousness, I welcomed his macho belligerence. We kissed salaciously. Words were not needed as we hankered in our web of erotic desires.
He released his hold and beckoned me to follow. We sped towards his chalet above the city in his Thunderbird. I was already in awe by the man’s raunchy prowess. He pulled me to him the moment he unlocked the chalet door and ripped our clothes off before he pushed me onto the sofa. We resumed our urgent kisses and roused one another to ecstatic elation. His craving tongue explored every crevice of my youthfulness while I buried my face against his hairiness to inhale and savor his masculinity. I coveted his supremacy as much as he yearned to dominate my tenderness. We merged like the bold and the emboldened and crave to be united like the attracting poles of a magnet.
Our foreplay burned like a flaming passion when he whipped out a pair of handcuffs and cuffed me to the King. I surrendered to his imposing authority as he laps and bit at my reddened nipples. We were lost in the rapturousness of the moment when surges of shuddering agony and ecstasy radiated from my swollen perkiness. He had fastened a pair of nipple clamps onto my sauciness. His throbbing stiffness drummed against my palpitating erection.
Our French kiss served only to titillate his hunger to perforate my being before he lifted my legs onto his muscular shoulders. My twitching enthusiasm urged him to action. I was delighted to supplicate to his engorgement when he spat on his palpitating bulbousness to ease his ascendancy into my welcoming refuge. I clung to his burliness as his masterful countenance plowed into me with unbridled providence. We fused into a fiery orb of heated ardor. My shuddering hollow quivered to his gliding stroke. Although we spurned each other to conserve our amatory passion, our fervency took hold. With shattering exultations, our gushing potencies erupted onto and into our wanton physiques.
We did not terminate our licentiousness until the first light of dawn. Only then did we dressed hurriedly for my deliverance to L’hôtel Romantik before my tour departed for the next town and country. But most importantly, before my mother and her entourage discover my night’s sexcapade with a stranger, whose name I never knew.
Femme Fatale (Chapter Thirty-Two)
“It is a man’s own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him towards the evil temptress.”
Buddha
Last Week of November 1968
Menara Gardens, Marrakech, Morocco
Señor Triqueros had organized a field trip for the E.R.O.S. recruits and our chaperones, with Driss as our guide to a traditional desert garden at the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. This tranquil landscape contains a vast water basin that serves as a reservoir for irrigation of the surrounding olive trees. This was also a place where Marrakechians go to find equanimity, away from the hustle and bustle of city living; where they can enjoy a day’s outing and to admire the scenic Atlas mountain in the background.
In 1147 during the reign of Almohad, the Menara Gardens were constructed by Caliph Abd al-Mu’min. The gardens’ name came from the Menara colored pyramid-shaped roof of the Menzeh Pavilion, built during the 16th-century Saadi Dynasty. In 1968, this picturesque park was and continued to be a favorite venue for couples to enjoy a romantic rendezvous.
No sooner had we set up our picnic accouterments under a shady olive tree, our teacher and guest educator, Driss, illuminated our group about the infamous Moroccan femme fatale - the fabled jinniya
, Aisha Qandisha, also known as Aicha Kandida or Quandisa.
As we watched couples canoodle on rowboats and families frolic in the 16th-century pavilion; Triqueros asked our guide, “Now that you’ve gotten to know Mariam better, what do you make of her?”
“She’s smart, beautiful and liberal. I’m sure many of my Moroccan compatriots would be fascinated and fearful of this unique specimen,” the male model replied.
“In my culture, many men would encapsulate her as the mythical Quandisa,” he added.
The Señor interposed, “Ahh! Illuminate us about this storied being?”
“There are copious legends of this jinniya. As a child, I was told of her existence by my grandmother. Aicha Kandida is a malicious cannibalistic water jinni who lures men to do her bidding. She is described as a beautiful woman, only to reveal her true nature as a hideous, gigantic predator when angered.
“She lurks around the banks of the River Sebu and in the Sultan’s Palace grounds, waiting to charm unaccompanied foolish single men. Once the contact is made, there is no escape.
“That said, there are also stories about the jinniya’s magnanimity. Men who willingly gratify her are released, unharmed and laden with bountiful gifts,” Driss irradiated.
I questioned, “How did she come into being? Is she created by Allah or by the devil?”
The model declared, “Some myths hold her to be the daughter of Sidi Shamharush, the king of the jinn. It is said that her mother is human, and her father is an Ighud (the shepherd of the wind). They copulated in a forest, and their offspring were given the human name of Aisha and a devil’s name – Qandisha.
“I believe that Qandisha is a version of Astarte, who is an older Middle Eastern goddess known as Ishtar. From the Bronze Age through to the classical Hellenic era, she was worshiped as a fertility goddess.”