Exit

I am feeling tired; not physically tired but mentally, spiritually tired. I just want to sleep. But I am not going to give up, not just yet.

‘Do you believe in free will?’ I startle the officer.
‘Er, well… yes I do. I believe we all have choices’ he says, at last.
‘Ah, but it all depends upon what you mean by “choice”. You may argue – you probably do – that I chose to climb up here tonight. Right?’ I don’t wait for him to reply – I don’t want to be interrupted. ‘But are not my actions the end result of a chain of circumstances: my genetic inheritance; environment; everybody I’ve ever met; everything that’s happened to me; every action, every reaction? A long chain, reaching back to when I was born; in fact before that. What does the bible say about the sins of the fathers being foisted upon the sons. Yes, I know it doesn’t say foisted but I think that’s more appropriate for our age and times’.
‘That’s the old ‘billiard-ball’ argument.’ Sam shouts back. ‘You might as well say that from the day the first organism managed to crawl out of the primal slime it was inevitable you would end up on this bridge tonight’.
I think about this for a minute. ‘That’s about the size of it’ I say, cheerfully.
‘So the outcome is already pre-ordained. There’s no point in talking about it then’.
‘Well, I didn’t ask you to come here’ I say. But I already know the answer to that. So does he. He replies.
‘Ah, but that too was written in the primal slime’
You know, I’m beginning to like old Fast-track. ‘What are you doing in the police force? You’re far too clever’. I think he is smiling; can’t really tell from this distance – he may just have cramp. Like I’ve got, again.
He sees that I’m in some sort of distress and starts to climb towards me. I wave him back. He stops. Gradually the cramp eases.
‘Look, why don’t you come down and we can have chat?’
‘What about?’
‘Whatever you like. We can continue this discussion about free will, if you like.’ Before I can reply, he continues. ‘There’s a flaw in the determinism argument, you know. I mean, yes, we do come with a load of baggage – genetic inheritance -‘man hands on misery to man’ and all that. And I agree that our environment – particularly family, in the early years - has a powerful effect. But what about you as an individual?’
‘How do you mean?’ I am intrigued now.
‘Well, you are unique. There has never been anyone else quite like you, and there never will be. In fact there cannot possibly be. Wouldn’t you agree?’
I think about this. ‘I suppose so, in the sense that I was born at a particular time and in particular circumstances. But what does that mean?’
‘It means that your uniqueness is the missing factor from the determinism argument. It is that uniqueness that makes change possible; that enables you to break the link with the past. Think about it. How else could the human race have evolved to the stage it has?’
You know, I think he might have something there. I have never thought of it like that before. I had a friend once who believed that sometime before we are born – while we are still in the womb – a ‘soul’ enters into us. And it is that soul that gives us our divine spark – our uniqueness. Has this bobby cottoned on to something really profound? I ponder on this for a while. ‘Are you saying that we have a soul? I ask.
‘Well, that’s one way of putting it. People tend to shy away when they hear “religious talk”. But these are just labels: people doing their best to describe something that is perhaps beyond description, beyond explanation – but nevertheless real.’
He’s got a point.
‘For example, Christians believe we are made in God’s Image. But I don’t think we should take that literally.’
‘No,’ I answer, ‘because if we took it to mean physically, what about all those poor sods who are crippled and deformed? What about dwarfs and hunchbacks?’
‘Exactly.’ Replies old Fastrack. ‘But if we took it to mean spiritually in God’s image, then that would make more sense. Wouldn’t it?’
‘Exactly how do you mean’. I am interested now.
‘Well, the God thing is just one way of putting it, but it would mean that we really were free to decide how we were going to live our life.’
‘You mean the ‘good’ or ‘evil’ choice’ I say, rather sarcastically.
‘I would put it more like choosing life rather than death’
I lean forward trying to see if he has a bible in his hand; he hasn’t. I try again. ‘But what exactly is the nature of this spirituality? That we share with God?’
‘I don’t think it’s something you can explain. You can only feel it’
I am a bit disappointed by his answer. ‘But that isn’t very scientific, is it?’
‘Why not?’ Are you saying that the only reality is that which we can apprehend by our intellect?’
‘OK. I suppose you are going to say that true science would expand to take in all phenomena; all ways of ‘knowing’?’
‘That’s about it’.
I am beginning to shiver. And I’m not sure it’s just because of the cold. He continues.
‘Do you have any children?’
‘Yes’.
‘Well, did you ever watch them when they were very young?’
‘Of course I did’ I am wary now.
‘And didn’t you think that they were something more that just the product of you and you partner?’
‘You mean just because you inherit your grandfather big nose, your mother’s taste for gin and your dad’s tendency to avoid work… it doesn’t mean you are a carbon copy?’
‘Exactly’
He is right or course. I often look at a young child in the street, with her mother, and think: you are more than the product of a…. I find it hard, even here up on the bridge to allow a word like shag to come into my mind. But it does.
No. Somehow the child transcends the parents – and when you see some of the parents… it’s just as well. My bridge partner is speaking:
‘And what about imagination? The ability to ‘see’ something before it has happened; which gives us the courage to take a leap into the dark? No. I would say that the past influences but it doesn’t determine.’

Suddenly I just want all this to end – somehow. I want someone to take the decision away from me.

‘If I come down you will arrest me’. I say, rather half-heartedly.
‘Why should I do that?’
‘Well, I’ve committed an offence, haven’t I?
‘Technically yes. But the paperwork! You wouldn’t believe it.’ A pause. ‘Look, me and my colleagues, we just want to get you down from there and then we can all go home… after we’ve had a chat’. He sort of tacks this last bit on, and I wonder what he means.
Holding tight to the rail, I take one last look at the sky. I’ll probably never get this close again. Not like this, anyway. And snatch of Dory Previn’s "Mythical Kings" is playing in my head - "I have flown to star-stained heights on bent and battered wings." Well, I’ve not actually flown, but I’ve come close.
I turn, and begin to ease myself slowly down the steel slope, sliding my right hand forward on the rail before I take the next step. Sam the bobby is standing there, watching me, anxiously. ‘Back off, Sam – I want to do this myself’.
Reluctantly he obeys. Turning, balancing gracefully on the narrow girder he walks to the wire, and jumps the six feet to the ground.
I feel strangely buoyant now. Confident, even. Maybe it’s the night air or the chat with this policeman – or both. But my head has cleared. The confusion that has clouded my brain for weeks has miraculously disappeared. I actually feel good.
The steel curve in front of me has become a wide road. I’m still holding on to the rail, but it’s dead easy now. My weight evenly balanced, I traverse the last few feet of the main arch, where the handrail ends. I straighten up to take the last few steps. Glancing down I see the little reception committee waiting for me. I smile to myself.
My right trainer hits the patch of oil.