by Dan Brown
The man typed into the terminal, and text appeared.
Where do we come from?
Where are we going?
“In other words,” Edmond said, “you would ask about our origin and our destiny. And when you ask those questions, this would be the computer’s response.”
The terminal flashed:
INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR ACCURATE RESPONSE.
“Not very helpful,” Kirsch said, “but at least it’s honest.”
Now an image of a human brain appeared.
“However, if you ask this little biological computer—Where do we come from?—something else happens.”
From out of the brain flowed a stream of religious images—God reaching out to infuse Adam with life, Prometheus crafting a primordial human out of mud, Brahma creating humans from different parts of his own body, an African god parting the clouds and lowering two humans to earth, a Norse god fashioning a man and a woman out of driftwood.
“And now you ask,” Edmond said, “Where are we going?”
More images flowed from the brain—pristine heavens, fiery hells, hieroglyphs of the Egyptian Book of the Dead, stone carvings of astral projections, Greek renderings of the Elysian Fields, Kabbalistic descriptions of Gilgul neshamot, diagrams of reincarnation from Buddhism and Hinduism, the Theosophical circles of the Summerland.
“For the human brain,” Edmond explained, “any answer is better than no answer. We feel enormous discomfort when faced with ‘insufficient data,’ and so our brains invent the data—offering us, at the very least, the illusion of order—creating myriad philosophies, mythologies, and religions to reassure us that there is indeed an order and structure to the unseen world.”
As the religious images continued to flow, Edmond spoke with increasing intensity.
“Where do we come from? Where are we going? These fundamental questions of human existence have always obsessed me, and for years I’ve dreamed of finding the answers.” Edmond paused, his tone turning somber. “Tragically, on account of religious dogma, millions of people believe they already know the answers to these big questions. And because not every religion offers the same answers, entire cultures end up warring over whose answers are correct, and which version of God’s story is the One True Story.”
The screen overhead erupted with images of gunfire and exploding mortar shells—a violent montage of photos depicting religious wars, followed by images of sobbing refugees, displaced families, and civilian corpses.
“Since the beginning of religious history, our species has been caught in a never-ending cross fire—atheists, Christians, Muslims, Jews, Hindus, the faithful of all religions—and the only thing that unites us all is our deep longing for peace.”
The thundering images of war vanished and were replaced by the silent sky of glimmering stars.
“Just imagine what would happen if we miraculously learned the answers to life’s big questions … if we all suddenly glimpsed the same unmistakable proof and realized we had no choice but to open our arms and accept it … together, as a species.”
The image of a priest appeared on the screen, his eyes closed in prayer.
“Spiritual inquiry has always been the realm of religion, which encourages us to have blind faith in its teachings, even when they make little logical sense.”
A collage of images depicting fervent believers now appeared, all with eyes closed, singing, bowing, chanting, praying.
“But faith,” Edmond declared, “by its very definition, requires placing your trust in something that is unseeable and indefinable, accepting as fact something for which there exists no empirical evidence. And so, understandably, we all end up placing our faith in different things because there is no universal truth.” He paused. “However …”
The images on the ceiling dissolved into a single photograph, of a female student, eyes wide open and intense, staring down into a microscope.
“Science is the antithesis of faith,” Kirsch continued. “Science, by definition, is the attempt to find physical proof for that which is unknown or not yet defined, and to reject superstition and misperception in favor of observable facts. When science offers an answer, that answer is universal. Humans do not go to war over it; they rally around it.”
The screen now played historical footage from labs at NASA, CERN, and elsewhere—where scientists of various races all leaped up in shared joy and embraced as new pieces of information were unveiled.
“My friends,” Edmond now whispered, “I have made many predictions in my life. And I am going to make another one tonight.” He took a long slow breath. “The age of religion is drawing to a close,” he said, “and the age of science is dawning.”
A hush fell over the room.
“And tonight, mankind is about to make a quantum leap in that direction.”
The words sent an unexpected chill through Langdon. Whatever this mysterious discovery turned out to be, Edmond was clearly setting the stage for a major showdown between himself and the religions of the world.
CHAPTER 18
ConspiracyNet.com
EDMOND KIRSCH UPDATE
A FUTURE WITHOUT RELIGION?
In a live stream currently reaching an unprecedented three million online viewers, futurist Edmond Kirsch appears poised to announce a scientific discovery that he hints will answer two of humanity’s most enduring questions.
After an enticing prerecorded introduction by Harvard professor Robert Langdon, Edmond Kirsch has launched into a hard-hitting critique of religious belief in which he has just made the bold prediction, “The age of religion is drawing to a close.”
So far tonight, the well-known atheist appears to be a bit more restrained and respectful than usual. For a collection of Kirsch’s past antireligious rants, click here.
CHAPTER 19
JUST OUTSIDE THE fabric wall of the domed theater, Admiral Ávila moved into position, hidden from view by a maze of scaffolding. By staying low, he had kept his shadow hidden and was now ensconced only inches from the outer skin of the wall near the front of the auditorium.
Silently, he reached into his pocket and removed the rosary beads.
Timing will be critical.
Inching his hands along the string of beads, he found the heavy metal crucifix, amused that the guards manning the metal detectors downstairs had let this object slip past them without a second glance.
Using a razor blade hidden in the stem of the crucifix, Admiral Ávila cut a six-inch vertical slit in the fabric wall. Gently, he parted the opening and peered through into another world—a wooded field where hundreds of guests were reclining on blankets and staring up at the stars.
They cannot imagine what is coming.
Ávila was pleased to see that the two Guardia Real agents had taken up positions on the opposite side of the field, near the right front corner of the auditorium. They stood at rigid attention, nestled discreetly in the shadows of some trees. In the dim light, they would be unable to see Ávila until it was too late.
Near the guards, the only other person standing was museum director Ambra Vidal, who seemed to be shifting uncomfortably as she watched Kirsch’s presentation.
Contented with his position, Ávila closed the slit and refocused his attention on his crucifix. Like most crosses, it had two short arms that made up the transverse bar. On this cross, however, the arms were magnetically attached to the vertical stem and could be removed.
Ávila grabbed one of the cruciform’s arms and forcefully bent it. The piece came off in his hand, and a small object fell out. Ávila did the same on the other side, leaving the crucifix armless—now just a rectangle of metal on a heavy chain.
He slid the beaded chain back into his pocket for safekeeping. I’ll need this shortly. He now focused on the two small objects that had been hidden inside the arms of the cross.
Two short-range bullets.
Ávila reached behind him, fishing under his belt, pulling from the small of his back the object he had smuggle
d in beneath his suit jacket.
Several years had passed since an American kid named Cody Wilson had designed “The Liberator”—the first 3-D-printed polymer gun—and the technology had improved exponentially. The new ceramic and polymer firearms still did not have much power, but what they lacked in range, they more than made up for by being invisible to metal detectors.
All I need to do is get close.
If all went as planned, his current location would be perfect.
The Regent had somehow gained inside information about the precise layout and sequence of events this evening … and he had made it very clear how Ávila’s mission should be carried out. The results would be brutal, but having now witnessed Edmond Kirsch’s Godless preamble, Ávila felt confident that his sins here tonight would be forgiven.
Our enemies are waging war, the Regent had told him. We must either kill or be killed.
Standing against the far wall in the right front corner of the auditorium, Ambra Vidal hoped she did not look as uncomfortable as she felt.
Edmond told me this was a scientific program.
The American futurist had never been shy about his distaste for religion, but Ambra had never imagined tonight’s presentation would display such hostility.
Edmond refused to let me preview it.
There would certainly be fallout with the museum board members, but Ambra’s concerns right now were far more personal.
A couple of weeks ago, Ambra had confided in a very influential man about her involvement in tonight’s event. The man had strongly urged her not to participate. He had warned of the dangers of blindly hosting a presentation without any knowledge of its content—especially when it was produced by the well-known iconoclast Edmond Kirsch.
He practically ordered me to cancel, she remembered. But his self-righteous tone made me too incensed to listen.
Now, as Ambra stood alone beneath the star-filled sky, she wondered if that man was sitting somewhere watching this live stream, his head in his hands.
Of course he is watching, she thought. The real question is: Will he lash out?
Inside Almudena Cathedral, Bishop Valdespino was sitting rigidly at his desk, eyes glued to his laptop. He had no doubt that everyone in the nearby Royal Palace was also watching this program, especially Prince Julián—the next in line for the throne of Spain.
The prince must be ready to explode.
Tonight, one of Spain’s most respected museums was collaborating with a prominent American atheist to broadcast what religious pundits were already calling a “blasphemous, anti-Christian publicity stunt.” Further fanning the flames of controversy, the museum director hosting tonight’s event was one of Spain’s newest and most visible celebrities—the spectacularly beautiful Ambra Vidal—a woman who for the past two months had dominated Spanish headlines and enjoyed the overnight adoration of an entire country. Incredibly, Ms. Vidal had chosen to put everything at risk by hosting tonight’s full-scale attack on God.
Prince Julián will have no choice but to comment.
His impending role as Spain’s sovereign Catholic figurehead would be only a small part of the challenge he would face in dealing with tonight’s event. Of substantially greater concern was that just last month, Prince Julián had made a joyous declaration that launched Ambra Vidal into the national spotlight.
He had announced their engagement to be married.
CHAPTER 20
ROBERT LANGDON WAS feeling uneasy about the direction of this evening’s event.
Edmond’s presentation was skating dangerously close to becoming a public denunciation of faith in general. Langdon wondered if Edmond had somehow forgotten that he was speaking not only to the group of agnostic scientists in this room, but also to the millions of people around the globe who were watching online.
Clearly, his presentation was devised to ignite controversy.
Langdon was troubled by his own appearance in the program, and although Edmond certainly meant the video as a tribute, Langdon had been an involuntary flash point for religious controversy in the past … and he preferred not to repeat the experience.
Kirsch, however, had mounted a premeditated audiovisual assault on religion, and Langdon was now starting to rethink his nonchalant dismissal of the voice mail Edmond had received from Bishop Valdespino.
Edmond’s voice again filled the room, the visuals dissolving overhead into a collage of religious symbols from around the world. “I must admit,” Edmond’s voice declared, “I have had reservations about tonight’s announcement, and particularly about how it might affect people of faith.” He paused. “And so, three days ago, I did something a bit out of character for me. In an effort to show respect to religious viewpoints, and to gauge how my discovery might be received by people of various faiths, I quietly consulted with three prominent religious leaders—scholars of Islam, Christanity, and Judaism—and I shared with them my discovery.”
Hushed murmurs echoed throughout the room.
“As I expected, all three men reacted with profound surprise, concern, and, yes, even anger, at what I revealed to them. And while their reactions were negative, I want to thank them for graciously meeting with me. I will do them the courtesy of not revealing their names, but I do want to address them directly tonight and thank them for not attempting to interfere with this presentation.”
He paused. “God knows, they could have.”
Langdon listened, amazed at how deftly Edmond was walking a thin line and covering his bases. Edmond’s decision to meet with religious leaders suggested an open-mindedness, trust, and impartiality for which the futurist was not generally known. The meeting at Montserrat, Langdon now suspected, had been part research mission and part public relations maneuver.
A clever get-out-of-jail-free card, he thought.
“Historically,” Edmond continued, “religious fervor has always suppressed scientific progress, and so tonight I implore religious leaders around the world to react with restraint and understanding to what I am about to say. Please, let us not repeat the bloody violence of history. Let us not make the mistakes of our past.”
The images on the ceiling dissolved into a drawing of an ancient walled city—a perfectly circular metropolis located on the banks of a river that flowed through a desert.
Langdon recognized it at once as ancient Baghdad, its unusual circular construction fortified by three concentric walls topped by merlons and embrasures.
“In the eighth century,” Edmond said, “the city of Baghdad rose to prominence as the greatest center of learning on earth, welcoming all religions, philosophies, and sciences to its universities and libraries. For five hundred years, the outpouring of scientific innovation that flowed from the city was like nothing the world had ever seen, and its influence is still felt today in modern culture.”
Overhead, the sky of stars reappeared, this time many of the stars bearing names beside them: Vega, Betelgeuse, Rigel, Algebar, Deneb, Acrab, Kitalpha.
“Their names are all derived from Arabic,” Edmond said. “To this day, more than two-thirds of the stars in the sky have names from that language because they were discovered by astronomers in the Arab world.”
The sky rapidly filled with so many stars with Arabic names that the heavens were nearly blotted out. The names dissolved again, leaving only the expanse of the heavens.
“And, of course, if we want to count the stars …”
Roman numerals began appearing one by one beside the brightest stars.
I, II, III, IV, V …
The numbers stopped abruptly and disappeared.
“We don’t use Roman numerals,” Edmond said. “We use Arabic numerals.”
The numbering now began again using the Arabic numbering system. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 …
“You may also recognize these Islamic inventions,” Edmond said. “And we all still use their Arabic names.”
The word ALGEBRA floated across the sky, surrounded by a series of multivariable equations. Next came
the word ALGORITHM with a diverse array of formulas. Then AZIMUTH with a diagram depicting angles on the earth’s horizon. The flow accelerated … NADIR, ZENITH, ALCHEMY, CHEMISTRY, CIPHER, ELIXIR, ALCOHOL, ALKALINE, ZERO …
As the familiar Arabic words streamed by, Langdon thought how tragic it was that so many Americans pictured Baghdad simply as one of those many dusty, war-torn Middle Eastern cities in the news, never knowing it was once the very heart of human scientific progress.
“By the end of the eleventh century,” Edmond said, “the greatest intellectual exploration and discovery on earth was taking place in and around Baghdad. Then, almost overnight, that changed. A brilliant scholar named Hamid al-Ghazali—now considered one of the most influential Muslims in history—wrote a series of persuasive texts questioning the logic of Plato and Aristotle and declaring mathematics to be ‘the philosophy of the devil.’ This began a confluence of events that undermined scientific thinking. The study of theology was made compulsory, and eventually the entire Islamic scientific movement collapsed.”
The scientific words overhead evaporated, and were replaced by images of Islamic religious texts.
“Revelation replaced investigation. And to this day, the Islamic scientific world is still trying to recover.” Edmond paused. “Of course, the Christian scientific world did not fare any better.”
Paintings of the astronomers Copernicus, Galileo, and Bruno appeared on the ceiling.
“The Church’s systematic murder, imprisonment, and denunciation of some of history’s most brilliant scientific minds delayed human progress by at least a century. Fortunately, today, with our better understanding of the benefits of science, the Church has tempered its attacks …” Edmond sighed. “Or has it?”
A globe logo with a crucifix and serpent appeared with the text:
Madrid Declaration on Science & Life