The Trial Of The Man Who Said He Was God by Douglas Harding Page A
Authors: Douglas Harding
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court. I may have some for you presently.
Defence: The Car Driver and the World Driver
MYSELF: While I accept that the Witness’s account of the trip was sincere, I have to tell the court that mine, though equally sincere, could hardly be more different.
I say we never exceeded the speed limit, and never came near it. I say we never got lost, and never broke down, and never drove four miles all told — let alone four thousand. I say we got many, many times more power out of a litre of petrol than any other car on the road. I say —
JUDGE, angrily: Did you or didn’t you go on the same tour as the Witness? And please do not waste any more of the court’s time with fantasies or riddle-me-rees.
MYSELF: Well, it was and it wasn’t the same tour. And what I just told the court happens to be a model of understatement: all gospel truth, but pitching the driver’s claim to extraordinary powers as low as possible, and couching it in the soberest language. Apparently the Witness didn’t share my breathtaking experience. I understand that. Everything depends, you see, on Who is driving.
Yes, Your Honour, I did the driving. But Who was this I? That’s the big question, the question sub judice.
Look: I’ll tell you what I did, you tell me Who did it. I’ll describe the astounding things that happened on that trip, if you’ll explain Who’s capable of such things — a human being, or a superhuman being, or the Divine Being. I can’t speak fairer than that, can I?
My story is of a driver that you would swear was in no condition, legally or medically, to be in charge of a push-bike. There he was, slouched in the driving seat, upside down and literally off his rocker. Dangerous driving at its most lethal, you would think, made worse by the unroadworthy state of his car, with most of the rear missing. As it turned out, however, none of this mattered very much, for the car was as handicapped as the driver. In fact, it was paralytic and incapable of moving an inch. Incapable even of coasting downhill in neutral with brakes off and three pushing.
But neither my strangely dilapidated condition nor my car’s presented any difficulty, so far as transport was concerned. The countryside took care of that, and did all the moving necessary. And much, much more. The whole world was in turmoil, convulsed by quakes infinitely beyond the Richter scale. It was as if some giant troll were stirring the cosmos like a maniac, before gobbling it all up for his dinner.
COUNSEL, sotto voce: The maniac who’s now in the dock?
MYSELF: Let’s put it differently, and do belated justice to that inverted and abbreviated Driver. He was, in fact, so fit, so skiIful, so powerful, so unhandicapped, and — yes! — so unhuman that, instead of driving a car, he drove the world, without himself budging an inch!
COUNSEL: Jurors have too much common sense to be taken in by this sophistry, this midsummer madness. The certainty that you and I move around in the world — and not vice versa — is so universal, so practical, so indispensable to life and thought that it can’t be false. Here, in fact, we have just one more example of the famous Nokes Law: Everyone’s out of step, except me! You can’t prove him wrong. But you can order him to fall out and go back to where he came from. To the glass-house. Or is it to the nut-house?
MYSELF: If I’m out of step, it’s because I’m marching to God’s almighty drum. Let me see if I can confound Sergeant Wilberforce by getting another recruit to hear and march to it...
Will the Witness please go back into the box. [She does so.] Please tell the court what I’m doing...
WITNESS: Turning round, and round, and round in the dock.
MYSELF: Just me? Is the dock, is anything else besides me on the move?
WITNESS: No. Just you.
MYSELF: Now it’s your turn to do what I did. [She complies, gathering speed ...] Tell the court whether you are moving, or the court. Go by what’s given right now.
WITNESS:
Defence: The Car Driver and the World Driver
MYSELF: While I accept that the Witness’s account of the trip was sincere, I have to tell the court that mine, though equally sincere, could hardly be more different.
I say we never exceeded the speed limit, and never came near it. I say we never got lost, and never broke down, and never drove four miles all told — let alone four thousand. I say we got many, many times more power out of a litre of petrol than any other car on the road. I say —
JUDGE, angrily: Did you or didn’t you go on the same tour as the Witness? And please do not waste any more of the court’s time with fantasies or riddle-me-rees.
MYSELF: Well, it was and it wasn’t the same tour. And what I just told the court happens to be a model of understatement: all gospel truth, but pitching the driver’s claim to extraordinary powers as low as possible, and couching it in the soberest language. Apparently the Witness didn’t share my breathtaking experience. I understand that. Everything depends, you see, on Who is driving.
Yes, Your Honour, I did the driving. But Who was this I? That’s the big question, the question sub judice.
Look: I’ll tell you what I did, you tell me Who did it. I’ll describe the astounding things that happened on that trip, if you’ll explain Who’s capable of such things — a human being, or a superhuman being, or the Divine Being. I can’t speak fairer than that, can I?
My story is of a driver that you would swear was in no condition, legally or medically, to be in charge of a push-bike. There he was, slouched in the driving seat, upside down and literally off his rocker. Dangerous driving at its most lethal, you would think, made worse by the unroadworthy state of his car, with most of the rear missing. As it turned out, however, none of this mattered very much, for the car was as handicapped as the driver. In fact, it was paralytic and incapable of moving an inch. Incapable even of coasting downhill in neutral with brakes off and three pushing.
But neither my strangely dilapidated condition nor my car’s presented any difficulty, so far as transport was concerned. The countryside took care of that, and did all the moving necessary. And much, much more. The whole world was in turmoil, convulsed by quakes infinitely beyond the Richter scale. It was as if some giant troll were stirring the cosmos like a maniac, before gobbling it all up for his dinner.
COUNSEL, sotto voce: The maniac who’s now in the dock?
MYSELF: Let’s put it differently, and do belated justice to that inverted and abbreviated Driver. He was, in fact, so fit, so skiIful, so powerful, so unhandicapped, and — yes! — so unhuman that, instead of driving a car, he drove the world, without himself budging an inch!
COUNSEL: Jurors have too much common sense to be taken in by this sophistry, this midsummer madness. The certainty that you and I move around in the world — and not vice versa — is so universal, so practical, so indispensable to life and thought that it can’t be false. Here, in fact, we have just one more example of the famous Nokes Law: Everyone’s out of step, except me! You can’t prove him wrong. But you can order him to fall out and go back to where he came from. To the glass-house. Or is it to the nut-house?
MYSELF: If I’m out of step, it’s because I’m marching to God’s almighty drum. Let me see if I can confound Sergeant Wilberforce by getting another recruit to hear and march to it...
Will the Witness please go back into the box. [She does so.] Please tell the court what I’m doing...
WITNESS: Turning round, and round, and round in the dock.
MYSELF: Just me? Is the dock, is anything else besides me on the move?
WITNESS: No. Just you.
MYSELF: Now it’s your turn to do what I did. [She complies, gathering speed ...] Tell the court whether you are moving, or the court. Go by what’s given right now.
WITNESS:
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