The Ring of Truth

The long and winding road seemed endless as it snaked around a lake. Was I just going around in circles? I looked in vain for a street sign or some indication of whether there was someone who lived on this road. When I was just about to give up and retrace my steps back to my car, a figure appeared in the distance. It appeared to be an old man in overalls holding a rake, heading in my direction. When he got close enough, he nodded in my direction, with a look of surprise on his face, as if he didn't expect to encounter someone on this road. "Howdy," he said, can I help you?" "This here is private property." "I'm sorry," I replied in an apologetic voice. "I didn't see a sign. I didn't mean to trespass, but I was looking for a house on Robin Lane. Is this the road that leads there?" The man with the rake smiled and said, "Oh you're looking for old man Robertson. "Lots of folk come here looking for him. Do you have an appointment?" "No, I said, "he is impossible to contact. But I hope I can see him for a few moments." The man took off his straw hat, scratched his head, and sized me up. Maybe it was the fact that I was dressed like a scholar with my button-down Oxford shirt and khaki pants on a ridiculously hot day that made me stand out from the usual visitors. He pointed towards a hill in the distance and said, "If you go up that hill and walk along the path to the right about half a mile down, you will see a red, wood house. That's where he lives. But I don't know if the housekeeper will let you see him. I hear he doesn't like to be disturbed. He spends all day working on his book and no one knows the last time he left the house." "Thank you," I replied. I heard he is over 100 years old and has been working on his "Book of Why" forever. It's supposed the most complete book of human knowledge ever recorded in one place. "I hear stories about that," said the old man. "Some say he is over 100, and some say he has lived forever. I don't know what to believe."

The red, wood house looked like a haunted house in some kind of horror movie. It was more like a shack with planks of wood missing or broken and a few broken down concrete steps leading to the door. A massive bush covered most of the entrance until I pushed it aside to knock on the door. A faint voice from inside asked, "Who is there?" "Hello, sorry to bother you," I replied. "I wonder if I can see the professor for a few moments?" In a few minutes the door opened and a short elderly woman in a long dress and a bonnet stood before me. "Is the professor expecting you?" she asked. "No, but I heard about his work from the university, and I'm very interested in talking to him. I think he can help me a great deal with some problems I'm dealing with," I replied. She nodded and motioned for me to come in. "He doesn't usually talk to unexpected visitors, but wait here and I'll see if he is able to talk to you. What is your name, young man?" "My name is Loren Langston. I was referred to him by professor Freeman in the philosophy department at Ohio State." I had to smile as she descended the staircase to the basement. At 68 years old, it has been a long time since anyone called me a "young man." I guess it's all comparative.

After getting permission from the housekeeper, I descended into the basement; maybe dungeon would be a more apt description. The cavernous room was dimly lit with a bare light bulb hanging from a wire. Old man Robertson did indeed look very old. He was bald with a long white beard almost down to the floor. He had squinty, narrow brown eyes behind thick glasses and a slight smile as he gazed up at me. He had a huge book opened in front of him with blank pages that he was writing in using a fountain pen. Surrounding his desk were piles of books, with wrinkled yellow pages, many of them having inches of dust piled on top. "I'm very busy," he said in a deep, gravelly voice. "I'm up to chapter 213 and I'm only up to the Middle Ages. It seems that world knowledge is increasing almost faster than I can write so I have to spend more hours every day just to keep up. Is there something I can help you with my son?" "Yes," I replied. I'm very interested in the ancient Greek philosophers, and I understand that you knew some of them personally. Did you know Socrates? What was he like?" The old man's face lit up like I brought back a memory. "Ah, yes Socrates. Everyone wants to know about him. He was a short, ugly man with a squashed in nose, a scraggly beard, and an awkward gait. He didn't like to shower and often had a foul smell. "Yes," I said. "We have that description from his contemporaries. But what can you tell me that is not already known?" "I can tell you that he was a jeweler," he replied. "People say he didn't have an occupation, but that is not true. He made very nice jewelry and sold them in the marketplace. He would always give me jewelry free because we were good friends and I'd help hide him when the authorities would come looking for him. I told him I could hide him when he knew they were coming to arrest him for the last time, but he wasn't interested. He wanted to accept his fate." He bent over and opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out what looked like an old tarnished brass ring. He handed it to me and said, "This is a ring that Socrates gave me. You can keep it. I have plenty more. But be careful who wears it. The ones who wear it will think they know the truth, but it will ony be their subjective interpretation of the truth, not the transcendental, eternal truth. What we think is the truth is colored by our experiences and prejudices. Only a chosen few can look beyond that."

When the time seemed right, just after we finished dinner, I took out the ring and presented it to Karen, my fiancée. Her smile faded and her face fell as she examined the old ring. "Why did you get me this? It looks like you picked it off a scrap heap. This is an insult!" she screamed. "You don't understand," I replied. It's a very special ring. I was given to me by a man who knew the ancient Greek philosophers and that ring was given to him by Socrates. It is a sacred ring with special powers. I did not try it on because I wanted you to be first. You will have the power to see the truth as you know it." Karen scrunched her face in a anger. "You idiot," she raged. Some old man claims be over 2,000 years old and you believe him!" "Wait a minute," I replied. Don't you believe in a 2,000-year-old man who has the power to let you see the truth and even heal people in his name?" "That's different and you know it," she retorted. "Jesus was the son of God. Socrates was just a weird man who ranted in a marketplace all day. He had no power. He was probably schizophrenic, just like the old man who gave you this ring. "Just humor me and try it on," I replied. With a look of resignation on her face, Karen sighed and placed the ring on her finger. Immediately she seemed to go into a trance, with her eyes glazed over, her pupils dilated and fixed. I got scared and carried her to the sofa, stretching her out with her head on the pillow. I was thinking of calling 911, but something told me this could be a good sign. I sat and watched her lying in a sort of semiconscious trance, her breathing shallow but steady, occasionally murmuring some undecipherable sounds. Finally after about two hours she woke with a startled look on her face. "What happened," I asked as she slowly focused her eyes on me. "I had a vision of the future," she said, "and it was wonderful." "We were together for eternity, no longer having a body, no fear, no pain, just a blissful spirit floating in heaven." "Wow," I exclaimed. "Maybe this ring does have some special power. That is the truth as you understand it. I wonder what would happen if I wore the ring. I don't believe in heaven or hell or any afterlife. I'm afraid the future is bleak and that we will eventually destroy the planet and any trace of civilization. We can see it now with climate change. I'm afraid of what this ring is going to show me, but there is only one way to find out." I took the ring off her finger and put it on mine. I immediately blacked out for I don't know how long. Then I was aware of a point of light in the distance and a narrow tunnel leading there. I entered the tunnel and found myself pulled to the point of light. When I reached it, the light suddenly burst into a red ball of fire and I was certain I would be incinerated. Instead the ball of fire was condensed into a tiny black point that was even more powerful than before. I was pulled into this point and emerged into a new universe where everything looked different. It felt like a new version of myself with new possibilities at the beginning of history. When I woke up, I felt more hopeful. Maybe the ring was telling me that a version of myself lives on in a different universe and in that sense we all achieve a kind of immortality. Karen and I certainly had different versions of th future, but we didn't differ in believing there is another world after this one, and we do go on in a different plane of existence. We were not so different after all.