“Oh please, spare me that tired old argument,” drawled Corwin. “You theists are always quick to assume that without religion, society would plunge itself into a chaotic moral vacuum. You make it sound as if we atheists are bunch of murderous psychopaths! Am I not a good example of just how empty those accusations are? Religion’s fanciful threats and promises may have had their place in the past, but humanity has come a long way since the Dark Ages. Contrary to popular belief, most atheists make for perfectly pleasant neighbors.”
“Because of their atheism, or in spite of it?”
Corwin took his attorney’s jab in stride. “Morality isn’t some cosmic insight instilled by the divine, and neither is it purely a matter of opinion. It’s an evolved instinct, one that’s further shaped by the culture into which we’re born.”
“It is one thing to say that your genes and environment influence your values, and another thing to say that they determine them,” replied Ransom. “Can man not judge whether to follow his instincts? Can he not pass judgment over his culture, and endeavor to shape that culture, rather than merely be shaped by it?”
“You’re oversimplifying things.”
“That which one passes judgment over cannot be the basis of one’s judgment. The compass does not point towards itself.”
“Now you’re just speaking gibberish!”
“Putting aside the question of free will for now, I think that your godless brand of morality overlooks one rather important consideration.”
“Do enlighten me,” Corwin droned.
“Regardless of how you come to them, values have implications.”
They rounded the corner of a broad avenue and Ransom drew to a halt. Beneath the darkened panes of a shop window, a girl huddled against the stone, her scrawny figure swaddled in a tattered blanket. Mousy brown hair tumbled over her shoulders and her bare feet shivered in the cold. Alone and abandoned, she gazed up pitifully at the two travelers, but her quivering lips had lost the strength to speak.
“This one will not last the night,” judged Ransom.
“Then help her!” demanded Corwin. “You’re an angel, aren’t you?”
“To help her is man’s job, not mine.”
“Apparently it’s not your god’s job either,” Corwin said with a dark look. “What use is he, if he can’t even save one little girl?”
Shedding his cashmere coat, he attempted to wrap it around her, but as he reached down, both his hands and the coat only passed through.
“I’m afraid that won’t work,” informed the angel. “But so that you might understand, I’ll bend the rules a bit. The girl is starving. You may offer her one of these two apples.”
His hands disappeared briefly into his suit, producing a pair of ripe apples. One was a bold red and the other a pastel green. He extended them to Corwin.
“What’s the difference between them?” Corwin inquired, inspecting the two apples suspiciously. No choice was ever arbitrary when it came to his wily attorney.
“The green one is more on the tart side,” answered Ransom. “Also, it’s stuffed with razor blades.”
Corwin stared aghast, his jaw dropping as he recoiled from the green apple.
“What kind of demented, sadistic asshole are you?”
Ransom smiled like a knife.
“So you’ll be choosing the safe and nutritious red apple, then?”
“Damn right I will!” Corwin snatched it out of his hand. “And before you ask, no, I don’t feel the need to offer some longwinded justification of why doing the right thing is important.”
“But you do believe that there is a right thing? To give a starving child an apple that’s harmless or one that hides a razor-edged surprise—those two choices are not morally equivalent to you?”
Corwin stooped and held out the red apple. The girl hesitated at first, the dark pools of her eyes wavering, unsure whether this stranger was a friend or a phantom, but hunger proved stronger than fear. She clasped the fruit in her slender hands.
“Not every atheist is a relativist,” said Corwin. “I used to think like that, but if one truly believes that all values are relative, then whether you kill yourself or have a cup of coffee, it really is all the same. I decided that life is worth cherishing, both my life and the lives of others. I don’t need the infantile promises of religion to motivate me to act like a decent human being.”
“A noble ideal, but those words have deep ramifications,” spoke Ransom. “To say that one course of action is ever preferable to another is to say that there is a way man is meant to live.”
The girl sank her teeth into the apple with a crisp crunch, juice dribbling down her chin. So vibrant was the fruit’s color that it seemed almost to glow, and as she hungrily devoured it, sparing not even the core, the chill wind began to lose its bite.
“If there is a way—a true way—that man is meant to live,” Ransom continued, “then that implies intentional causality behind man’s existence.”
Corwin screwed up his face. “Intentional causality?”
“To put it simply: if man is intended to live a certain way, there must be someone who intended it.”
“Hence, god,” concluded Corwin. “I see where you’re going with this. You mean to brand me as a Christian despite myself!”
“It certainly sounds to me like your values imply faith in a personal God,” alleged Ransom. “Or does logic tell you otherwise?”
Knuckling his chin, Corwin searched for a weak link in the chain of implications. He mumbled as he reasoned to himself.
“If any decision is truly better than another . . . then there is a way man is meant to live . . . and therefore an intention behind man’s existence . . .” He paused, then snapped towards his attorney, lifting a finger for emphasis. “But that doesn’t have to imply a divine creator! It’s evolution that ‘intended’ for us to think this way.”
“You can’t escape that easily. Saying that your genes urge you towards a certain choice is not the same as saying that one choice is truly better than another. All you’ve done is return to the starting point.”
Corwin heaved a sigh.
“It sounds persuasive, but once again your argument hinges on the notion of truth. Instead of accepting god, the old me might just as soon have decided that nothing in life is truly good or evil.”
“Then it’s fortunate that the old you is already dead,” Ransom said blithely. “And frankly, I don’t believe that. Say what you will about truth and justice, you don’t have it in you to give the starving girl the razor blade apple. By their fruits you shall know them. Your actions reflect where you really stand.”
It can’t be that simple, thought Corwin. The angel’s assessment felt appallingly unfair, not to mention insulting, yet he wasn’t quite sure how to wriggle out of it.
“Do you honestly mean to tell me that I’m a theist in denial?”
Infuriatingly calm, Ransom seemed more interested in his cigarette than in Corwin’s existential crisis.
“You did end up as one of my clients, and I don’t represent the hopeless.”
Before Corwin could protest, he heard a small voice at his feet.
“Thanks for the apple, Mister,” said the girl.
She was no longer shivering. The color had returned to her cheeks and her eyes were bright with a newfound vitality, a healthy glow that no ordinary apple should have been able to bring about.
In spite of his inner turmoil, Corwin managed a smile and instantly felt a tinge of relief. His attorney was right in one respect. He would never dream of inflicting senseless harm upon this child, nor any innocent person. To do so reflected far more than a mere “difference of opinion” in his mind.
“We’ve spoken much on the subject of morality,” said Ransom, “but that’s just one dimension of values. The same applies to other scales, as well. The scientist who values knowledge above ignorance, the rationalist who values reason above emotion, the artist who values the beautiful above the bland . . . They all
proclaim ‘This is how man should live!’ And in doing so, they all appeal to a higher order.”
A clanking, hissing sound erupted from down the street. As Corwin’s head swiveled for the source of the noise, suddenly the girl leapt upright. There was a loud thoomp and something whistled through the air.
“Mister, watch out!”
She threw herself hard into Corwin’s side, shoving him out of the way as a wire net ensnared her. Steel spikes stabbed the cobblestones and the net pinned her to the ground. Catching his balance, Corwin stared past Ransom and the captured girl to see a hulking mechanical monstrosity.
The steam-powered robot marched towards them one heavy step at a time. Its metallic sides were navy blue and a shield crest embellished its chest plate, marking the machine as an enforcer for the city watch. Mounted atop armored shoulders, its head was a cross between a tube television and a deep sea diving helmet, aquamarine light flooding the glass.
Raising an arm that ended in the barrel of a net gun, the mechanized watchman broadcast an electronic voice.
“Code 484: Unlicensed act of charity detected. Halt and surrender yourselves at once!”
10
The Divine Supermarket
The metal enforcer plodded closer. Clunky gears revolved in its joints and jets of steam vented from the exhaust pipes on its back.
“You need a license to be charitable in this city?” balked Corwin as he retreated a cautious step.
Ransom was scratching his chin.
“Ah yes, it seems I forgot about that.”
Glancing above the shop window where they had found the girl, Corwin noticed a panning security camera, its lens now pointed their way and smoldering with an angry red light.
“Violators will be prosecuted!” droned the robot.
They heard the hiss-click of another round being loaded into its net gun.
“Such a nuisance,” grumbled Ransom. “You’re interrupting my valuable attorney-client session time.”
In his right hand he juggled the infamous green apple, casually tossing it and letting the fruit drop back into his palm. The enforcer leveled its gun towards them. With a swift twist, Ransom’s arm became a blur and he pitched the apple straight at the robot’s glowing face. It splattered on the screen, the glass bursting as a thunderous ball of fire blasted the torso of the machine into a thousand charred pieces. Corwin ducked and covered his head.
“What the hell did you stuff into that apple!?”
Shards of scrap metal whizzed past, raining down amidst curls of smoke and blazing sparks. The robot’s sturdy feet were still planted right where the rest of it had stood only seconds before. Somewhere in the distance, a siren began to wail.
Waltzing over to where the girl was trapped, Ransom reached down with one hand and grabbed the wire netting. A powerful tug ripped the net loose, taking several of the road’s cobblestones with it.
“Grab the girl!”
“Is that even possible?”
“It is now.”
Corwin bent to scoop her up, and this time his body proved solid enough for the task. A clanking clamor echoed through the streets as he hastened after his attorney. They crossed the road, high-stepping over the charged iron rails. Ten thousand volts of electricity crackled between Corwin’s legs. Clearing the last rail, he blew the girl’s hair out of his eyes. Her arms were locked around his neck and her face buried in his shoulder. Just ahead, Ransom kicked in the boarded-up door to a deserted tenement building, littering the lobby with splintered wood.
“This place will do.”
Steel wheels scraped the stone behind them as armor-plated streetcars rolled into view. Corwin’s pulse raced, but what seized him wasn’t anything like the creeping dread that he had felt in the alley. The danger here was something he understood, and fear robbed of mystery was a beast robbed of its claws. Still, he worried for the girl, and wouldn’t abide leaving her to the mercy of the city watch, which he suspected wasn’t very merciful.
The inside of the tenement was a dusty, decrepit mess. Flakes of paint were peeling off the walls and cobwebs clung to rusty chandeliers. Rats scampered out of the way, their beady eyes shining in the darkness as the three fugitives rushed up the stairs to the third floor. Ransom led them into an apartment that overlooked the road. Shutting the rickety door, he joined Corwin by the window.
The glass was thick with frost, but not so thick that they couldn’t see the army amassing outside. Rear bay doors swung upwards on the troop carriers and squads of watchmen filed out with steamrifles in hand. Several more of the mechanized enforcers had also shown up, their diver helmets aglow, probing the tenement like aquamarine searchlights. Corwin rubbed at the window’s icy coating to get a better look.
“I wouldn’t do that,” warned Ransom.
As Corwin glanced back at the angel, a loud bang rang out. A lattice of cracks split the glass and a bullet buzzed his ear.
“Oh shit!”
Tripping over his feet, he scrambled frantically away, and not a moment too soon. Another volley shattered the window and chewed holes through the wooden frame.
“Can’t you do something about this? You made quick work of that robot!”
“Scrapping a hunk of metal is one thing,” said Ransom, “but taking human lives is the sort of business I usually try to avoid.”
“You should have thought about that before you got us into this mess!”
Rapid footsteps drummed the floorboards of the lobby below.
“No good deed goes unpunished,” Ransom muttered.
“How about you snap your fingers and make that bedroom door lead somewhere else?” suggested Corwin.
“I could do that, but where shall we go?”
“Gee, I don’t know. How about anyplace where they’re not shooting at us?”
“We’re supposed to be preparing for your trial, not sightseeing. Plus we’ve got an extra passenger now.”
Ransom looked to the girl with a cheerful smile and she innocently returned it, neither one showing much concern over current events. Corwin wondered glumly whether he was the only sane person in the group.
“Unless that skeptical mind of yours is harboring some incisive objection, I’d say that we’ve covered your three hopes,” stated Ransom. “Do you still consider belief in God to be irrational?”
“No, not irrational!” spouted Corwin. “You haven’t convinced me that god exists, but to believe in some sort of higher power . . . It’s not completely beyond reason.”
“Only partially?”
“All that you’ve established is a vague notion of god, a distant creator that may or may not be knowable to us. But religion doesn’t stop there. As an angel, you’re no doubt speaking of the Christian God, of Jesus Christ, Father, Son and Holy Ghost and so on. What about all the other gods? Why shouldn’t I believe in Zeus or Odin or Ra or Vishnu? God only knows how many millions of gods there are out there!”
“A fair point,” considered Ransom. “These days the greatest objection to Christianity isn’t that it’s a false religion, but rather that it’s just another religion.”
Muffled shouts filled the outer hallway and a splintering boom rocked the walls, the sound of watchmen breaching a nearby apartment. As quietly as he could, Corwin leaned his shoulder into an oaken cabinet and slid it against the door. Even as he did so, he knew that the barricade wouldn’t hold for long, and then his unpredictable attorney would have to do something.
The surest ways to get Ransom motivated seemed to involve cigarettes, liquor or a compelling argument. Corwin didn’t have any cigarettes or liquor.
“Every religion claims to worship the ‘true’ god or gods or goddesses. Every religion claims that all the other religions are false. The way I see it, you’re not so different from me. You’re an atheist when it comes to ninety-nine percent of the deities that man has dreamt up. I just happen to believe in one fewer god than you do!”
“Religious pluralism is a vapid trope,” replied Ransom. “Not
even you believe that all conceptions of God are equal.”
“They’re all equally devoid of empirical evidence!”
“And what of philosophical evidence? What of the law of non-contradiction? That the scope of man’s knowledge encompasses more than the empirical is a fact to which you already agreed.”
“Whether or not one god is more logically consistent than another, the point remains that I can no more disprove Zeus than I can disprove Invisible Zombie Jesus. Moreover, the whole notion that one religion—a single faith among thousands—is the sole inheritor of divine revelation seems preposterously arrogant.”
Ransom paced thoughtfully, his face downturned and his hands behind his back. He might have looked less absurd were it not for the young girl mimicking his motions two steps behind. All of a sudden he straightened up, clapped and eagerly rubbed his palms.
“Alright then, there are certainly plenty of gods out there. Let’s evaluate them!”
The shift in his tone gave Corwin pause.
“All of them?”
“That’s right.” The angel grinned. “All of them.”
Corwin’s shoulders sagged. This was going to take awhile.
A heavy crash rattled the barricade, interrupting his thoughts. He reached reflexively to shore up the cabinet, but quickly yanked back his hands as an earsplitting barrage of gunfire riddled the wooden furniture.
“Come,” called Ransom, poised beside the bedroom door. He held the girl’s hand in his. “It’s a fine day to do some shopping!”
Whatever that meant, Corwin was more than ready for a change of scenery. He kept his head low and sprinted for the doorway. His arm shot out, fingers clutching the hem of Ransom’s jacket. Behind him, the flimsy barricade exploded. Watchmen in stiff-collared trench coats surged into the room, but Ransom was already turning the knob. The door cracked and radiant light engulfed them.
“You’ve got nowhere to–”
The watchman’s voice was cut off, the commotion of the apartment now galaxies away.
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