October 25, 1987
Autumn in New England. The air feels crisp. I need more than a sweater to sit here by the lake. It’s 3 in the afternoon. I left the office and drove to my favorite spot. The old patchwork comforter provides a layer between my body and the chilly ground. The sun, at just the right angle, forces the crimson and gold leaved trees to see themselves on the smooth surface of the lake. I’m not close enough to the edge to see my own reflection. A slight breeze crosses over me. I shiver and grab my pea coat, draping it over my shoulders. Reaching into my right pocket I pull out a pack of Marlboro Lights and a Bic lighter. I don’t smoke as much as Doug, who is up to half a pack a day. Shielding the lighter from the mild wind with my cupped hand, I manage to light the cancer stick on the first try. Then, leaning back on my elbows, turning my face toward the sun with closed eyes, I will its rays to warm my cheeks.
I take a deep drag off my cigarette, open my eyes trying to see the smoke rings I blow, but the sunlight blinds me. Abruptly I sit up as if the sun has reminded me what I’m doing here in the first place. Reaching into my left pocket, I pull out a wad of folded papers. Unfolding them, I tuck the newspaper clipping about the Johnson case under my leg and begin reading the photocopied article: Baron Paul Henri d’Holbach’s “A Defense of Determinism.”
The article: “Those who have affirmed that the soul is distinguished from the body, is immaterial, draws its ideas from its own peculiar source, acts by its own energies, without the aid of any exterior object, have, by a consequence of their own system, enfranchised [liberated] it from those physical laws according to which all beings of which we have a knowledge are obliged to act. They have believed that the soul is mistress of its own conduct, is able to regulate its own peculiar operations, has the faculty to determine its will by its own natural energy; in a word, they have pretended that man is a free agent…”
It’s not an easy read and I’m unpracticed, unlike my husband who reads this sort of thing every day. I haven’t actually read this, or anything like this since I graduated. And, although I hadn’t memorized it word for word by any means, I knew the gist of it. More than that, I lived by it. Remember it’s my God alternative. I wasn’t kidding about that.
The gist of it: We humans seem to think we have free will, it feels like we have free will, so we must, mustn’t we? Hell no, according to d’Holbach. We are far from free agents, controlled by mere impulses in our brains, those purely physical things inside of our skulls dictating our every move – including our decisions. We are no more in control of our desire for potato chips than we are for our desire for love, freedom, or nicotine. We didn’t ask to be born into our particular family. We didn’t choose our DNA. We had no control over our own personality development. Our brain does what it does based on competing impulses. The force of each impulse directs our behavior. A decision to do X instead of Y is simply the outcome of a stronger impulse to do X. Cause and effect. Our decisions are all effects of previous causes, none of which are in our control. We are simply slaves to our impulses, and can, therefore not be blamed for our decisions.
Get it?
Distracted with my reading, I let the ashes accumulate on the tip of my cigarette. They grow heavy and drop onto the faded blanket. I smash the butt on the bottom of my shoe and start a pile of extinguished filters. Turning my attention back to the article, page 4, I absent-mindedly light another.
The filter pile increases to four by the time I finish the article. My Bible.
Raymond Johnson is dead. Executed in the electric chair at 10:08 p.m. last night. No more appeals. No stay of execution from the governor. No last minute heroics on my part to save him.
Surprised? You shouldn’t be. Did you expect me to simply decide to change everything about myself – all of those causes that created me – and become someone different at the end of the story? I’ve carried the lie for 10 years. There was no choice. My inaction comes from deep within me. It’s who I am.
Go ahead, judge me. Go ahead, blame me.
Say it. Raymond Johnson is dead and it’s YOUR FAULT.
I light another cigarette. My ass is numb from sitting so long in one spot. I’d better be going soon. Another deep drag. I pull the newspaper article out from underneath my leg and open it. No need to read it again. It’s over. Extending my arm, dangling the newspaper in front of me, I touch my lit cigarette to its corner. Light damnit. But it doesn’t catch. I feel around on the quilt for the Bic. Flick. There. The article burns. I stand, walk over to the lake and toss the small piece still aflame. Close enough to the edge, I see my own reflection. It is me. With no shame.
Acknowledgements: Special thanks to Kathleen Lucas Executive Director padp.org for helping me with background on the death penalty and proofreading and to Gerard Raus for proofreading and encouragement. Much appreciation to my readers and those of you who cheered me on. Your words of support mean the world to me!
For further reading see d’Holbach’s entire argument on determinism. http://www.gutenberg.org/files/8909/8909-h/8909-h.htm#link2H_4_0018
