“Harold is what you might call a fallen-away Christian,” explained the angel. “He’s not anti-religious—not like you—but like many young adults, thoughts of God and the afterlife simply aren’t of much concern to him. He may find religion again in another twenty or thirty years when the specter of death looms closer, but in the meantime he’s got more important things on his mind, things like his upcoming promotion and whether or not he’ll win big in the next round of fantasy football.”
Wrapped in a towel, Harold stopped by the kitchen just long enough to put on a pot of coffee before rushing off to get dressed.
“Today, however, that’s all going to change.”
As the coffee dripped, Ransom raided the fridge and poured a tall glass of milk, then opened the pantry and introduced Blue to the wonder of Oreos. Captivated by the cookies, she studied how to dunk, twist off the tops and lick the cream with the rapt attention of a martial arts master learning new techniques.
Compared to when they had found her, Blue almost looked like a different person. Her spindly arms and legs had filled out, her mousy hair now fell in lustrous waves, and there was a gracefulness to her features that made it harder to guess her age.
Corwin also noticed a slight change in his attorney. Since the girl had joined them, Ransom hadn’t touched his bourbon or cigarettes.
A few minutes later Harold burst out of the bedroom in a navy blue suit and striped tie, a leather briefcase clutched in one hand. He poured his steaming caffeine fix into a travel mug, screwed tight the lid and marched for the door.
The pastel light of dawn glistened on the leaves. Ready to face the day, he took one step off his porch, then stopped and stiffened. The coffee mug slipped absently from his hand. It struck the ground with a clack and a splash, but he didn’t glance down. His gaze was riveted on the sky, on the impossible countenance that had appeared there.
Glorious rays parted the clouds, beaming forth from the head and shoulders of a colossal old man. Harold rubbed his eyes. I must be seeing things. But no amount of blinking made the vision disappear. The man was arrayed in a robe of solid light and had a wavy silver beard. Flames smoldered in his eyes, eyes that stared right at Harold—right through him—piercing the very depths of his soul.
His knees buckled and he stumbled back.
“Oh my God!”
“That’s right!” boomed the imposing figure. “It is I, the Lord! Behold me and know that I AM.”
“I, I see you Lord,” stammered Harold. “I believe!”
“Henceforth all shall believe, but though I have been hidden from man’s sight, man has never been hidden from mine. Your every thought and deed is known to me. Will you persist in sin, or repent and follow my commandments?”
“I repent, Lord! Have mercy!” cried Harold. “Whatever commandments you’ve got in mind, they sound great to me!”
He thrust a thumbs-up to the heavens, his trembling gesture a testament that the Lord was now his dearest pal.
“Harold isn’t alone,” stated Ransom. “By the end of the day, there won’t be a single person left on the planet who doubts the existence of God. And so the Lord will remain for generations to come, a permanent fixture in the sky, lest anyone forget.”
“I was thinking of something a bit more subtle,” said Corwin. “But I guess it’s hard to beat the effectiveness of supernatural flying space geezer.”
“Anything less would be rationalized away. A mass hallucination, a government conspiracy, a trick played by the weather. Humans can be very creative when seeking to disregard the miraculous.”
Ransom began to pull something large, flat and angular out of his suit. The object that sprang into shape was diamond kite, white and covered in big red hearts.
“Know how to fly one of these?” he asked Blue.
She nodded enthusiastically, taking the kite and running into the front yard. With his arms folded, the Sky Father gazed down upon the earth in judgment, but he paused in his glowering to return Blue’s smile and wave. As she released the kite and gave it some slack, he pursed his lips, puffed out his cheeks and blew.
Harold felt the wind, but he couldn’t see Blue, nor the momentary grin on the Sky Father’s face. He only hoped that the Devil wouldn’t be making a similar appearance.
“As you might imagine,” said Ransom, “Harold is soon to become a lot more religious. From this day onward, he’ll faithfully go to church, donate to charitable causes and make an extra effort to be kind and honest in all his dealings. But why? Will he do so out of a genuine love for his fellow man, or because he doesn’t want to piss off the omnipotent being whose soul-piercing eyes see his every deed?”
“You have a point,” Corwin confessed. “But then again, is fear such a bad thing? I thought Christians believed it wise to fear god’s wrath.”
“Fear of God is the beginning of wisdom, but not the end. While punishments and rewards have their uses in a child’s upbringing, it’s love that builds true relationships—the type of bonds that endure in the face of absence and doubt.”
“A father who hides himself for the sake of love . . .” Corwin’s tone was one of mock admiration. “I’ll say it again: your god is awfully convenient.”
“Your entire universe exists for the sake of love. That may not always be easy to see, especially through the narrow lens of one’s mortal life, but I think you’ll find that the only logical God is a loving God.”
“And you claim that faith makes love possible?”
“Faith makes love heroic,” corrected the angel. “To choose love when the benefit is blatantly obvious is simply to be practical. The Father prefers heroes to pragmatists.”
On the driveway ahead, Harold had managed to pull himself somewhat together. A new thought delayed him as he reached for the car door.
“Hey Lord, do I still have to go to work?”
“Only if you would stay employed,” spoke the Lord.
“I thought so,” moaned Harold. “You’re not going to send down any manna from Heaven or anything?”
“You don’t look like you’re starving in the desert,” the Lord observed. “Would you like to be?”
“Oh no Lord, that’s quite alright!” He hurriedly opened the door. “I’ll be off to work now!”
One hand waved skyward as he pulled out of the driveway, just narrowly avoiding a collision with his mailbox. The engine growled and Harold was on his way.
Corwin silently wished him luck, wincing as the car swerved unsteadily in its lane. With all the distracted drivers checking their rearview mirrors for the Lord, it was bound to be a dangerous day on the road.
“I guess an obvious god presents some obvious problems,” he said. “How does this all work out in Heaven?”
“If there is any darkness within you, beholding the Father in his true splendor would reduce you instantly to a pile of ashes,” replied Ransom. “Only in Heaven is man made perfect enough to endure that sight.”
“Oh, is that all? We just have to become perfect.”
“An impossible goal to achieve on your own. Luckily, divine grace is offered to all. As to whether one accepts it or not—that choice lies at the heart of why you are born unto Earth in the first place.”
“I think I speak for most humans when I say that god should have just plunked us straight into paradise.”
“Then faith would play no role in your forming, and as I said–”
“The father prefers heroes,” finished Corwin. His voice was a drawl, yet he wasn't discouraged. “But haven’t you forgotten something? By your own logic, we atheists are the most heroic of all! We expect no punishments or rewards in the next life. That makes our actions nobler than any believer’s when we choose virtue over vice!”
Unflustered, Ransom set his gaze on the clouds.
“Can one who believes in virtue truly be called an atheist? Can one who believes in nothing truly be called virtuous?”
In the yard, Blue’s face lit up, the Sky Father tossing her hair and prop
elling the kite with another draft blown from on high. As he watched her, Corwin’s thoughts went back to their first meeting, to the choice of the apple and what it meant. Values had implications.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“While I can think of better careers, the job does occasionally have its perks.”
“Before you congratulate yourself on making god sound not totally insane, you should know that the tables are about to turn,” said Corwin. “One might even say that you’ve played right into my hands.”
“Is that right?” asked his attorney sarcastically.
“You said it yourself: I never devoted much energy to disproving polytheism or pantheism. That’s because I was too busy shooting holes through the fairytale theology of your god. Making Christians look like idiots is what I’m best at.”
“Then you should have no trouble at all doing the same to me,” replied Ransom. “And no excuses,” he added with a grim smirk.
“If your heavenly father is the most reasonable god that religion has to offer, then the future of atheism is looking bright.”
Sliding a hand into his breast pocket, Ransom drew forth a floppy manila envelope stuffed with documents.
“I’ve got to get me one of those suits,” Corwin muttered.
“According to your file,” began Ransom in a ceremonious tone, “you outlined your thoughts on the Father’s logical shortcomings in an article titled ‘The Paradoxical God,’ which you penned during your brief but distinguished career as a guest blogger.”
“I’ll have you know that that article shot straight to the top of Reddit,” boasted Corwin, recalling fondly how well his writing had performed on the popular social news website.
“Impressive.” Ransom thumbed through a few pertinent pages. “It says here that you highlight five principal paradoxes: the Paradox of Omnipotence, the Paradox of Omniscience, the Paradox of Evil, the Paradox of Hell and the Paradox of Heaven.”
Corwin acknowledged each paradox with a sagely nod, looking altogether pleased with himself.
“And that’s just the big stuff! Anyone with the faintest care for critical thinking will find that your god is–”
“Hold that thought,” Ransom broke in. “Blue, it’s time to leave!”
“Coming, Mr. Apples!”
She released the kite’s string and skipped back towards the porch, her eyes tracking the red and white diamond as heavenly winds carried it away.
“You were saying,” Ransom prompted his client.
“I was about to mention how your god is logically flawed on almost every level.”
“Then why don’t we put him to the test?”
“Are you sure that’s prudent?” Lowering the pitch of his voice, Corwin gave his best impression of an Old Testament prophet. “Thou shall not put the lord thy god to the test,” he solemnly quoted. “I recall reading that somewhere.”
“We won’t be demanding any miraculous signs. In fact, we’re not really putting the Father to the test at all. Just the idea of him.”
“There you go again, weaseling out of your sacred scriptures,” huffed Corwin as his attorney snapped a turn towards Harold’s front door. “You people always have an excuse.”
12
The Lunatic’s Labyrinth
A ka-thunk sounded as the door sealed, leaving Corwin to gaze in wonder at his peculiar surroundings. This most definitely was not Harold’s foyer.
“I suppose this is what happens when you hire M. C. Escher to do your architecture.”
Stone stairways climbed and twisted at dizzying angles with no regard for gravity. Connecting them were spans of bricks, hallways without walls like the crossroads where they presently stood. The whole place was suspended in a starry void, cold and still, a faraway wind wailing softly.
Above their heads, moths fluttered about the panes of an antique streetlamp. Its incandescent glow illuminated a most unhelpful signpost, busy with arrows pointing every which way, one of them directing would-be travelers straight into the floor.
A plethora of doors dotted the labyrinth, their frames sprouting from the edges of the brick platforms. Banded slats of hand-carved oak, planks of particleboard and steel portals rimmed in rivets, no two were the same. They appeared to lead nowhere, but then, so did the doorway from which Corwin had just come.
“Didn’t you say to be wary of doors? If there are demons looking to ambush us, this sure seems like the perfect place.”
“Relax,” said Ransom. “These doors cannot be opened from the outside, not without a Dream Key, and demons don’t dream.” Keys jangled on an iron ring as he lifted it, then twirled it on his finger. “Even if they found a way in, they’d just end up getting hopelessly lost. The usual laws of logic don’t apply in this realm. In that way, it’s rather like your article.”
“Or like your self-contradicting god,” Corwin shot back.
A thin smile shone on his face. He was eager to get this stage of their debate rolling, confident that his cocksure attorney wouldn’t be having so easy a time answering the challenges to come. Up until now, Ransom had offered reasonable arguments, but the god he’d been defending was Christian only in the most basic of terms. A god like that was too distant to compel worship, too innocuous to even bother refuting.
“I can understand keeping one’s mind open to the possibility of the divine,” he said. “Plenty of scientists have been deists. They believed in the idea of a creator, but doubted how much we could know about him, and were justifiably skeptical that such a being would give a damn about human affairs.
“There’s also no shortage of agnostics. I used to be one myself; sitting on the fence, playing it safe.”
“You can live as an agnostic, but you can’t die as one,” said Ransom. “The question of God is like a marriage proposal. You can say yes or no or maybe, but if you keep saying maybe until you’re dead, then your maybe might as well have been a no.”
Corwin had always suspected that most agnostics just needed the right intellectual push to land them on the side of atheism. Even so, seldom had he engaged them in debate. Arguing with devout believers was just more fun.
In his eyes, Ransom was wading into dangerous waters now. It was one thing to claim that god existed. It was quite another thing to claim intimate knowledge of god’s nature and designs. Every major monotheistic religion did just that. As ideas go, a vague god might be simple and elegant. But religion was complex. Centuries of theology bogged down Christianity, and the bigger and more detailed the tapestry, the more opportunities there were to find loose threads.
“I remember it now!” proclaimed Blue, seemingly out of the blue. “When my husband and I were married, there was a great festival! All were invited. They came from across the land, bringing blessings and gifts. The dryads grew me a dress with a skirt of milk-white tulip petals. The mer presented me with earrings of orhalicon shell. And even the zol came down from their cloud lands. Theirs was the rarest gift: a tiara afire with moon tears!
“For seven days and seven nights we feasted, sang and danced, and my husband bestowed upon each guest a title, new names to honor their deeds. I can still hear the satyrs’ songs . . .”
She pranced on ahead, humming a whimsical tune as bits and pieces of the past came together in her mind.
“After this is all over,” Corwin spoke in a low voice to Ransom, “assuming that I’m not hallucinating this whole thing, are you really going to let them take her back?”
“Elsie wasn’t lying. Sooner or later Blue will have to return to her native realm.”
“But that place is a death sentence!”
“Was the place where we found her really her realm of origin?” Ransom gave the girl a look as she danced merrily, not a care in the world. “There’s much that makes me doubt that.”
“But then how–”
“I don’t know, but there are people who slip through the seams, find themselves in worlds where they don’t belong.” The angel called “This way!�
�� to Blue as he mounted a curving flight of stairs. “We’ve got paradoxes to unravel. Why don’t we start with your first?”
“Perhaps you’ve heard the question: ‘Can god create a boulder so heavy that even he cannot lift it?’” posed Corwin. “The Paradox of Omnipotence is kind of like that. If god is all-powerful, then that is to say that he can do anything, and therefore he should be able to create an unmovable object. If he can, then there is limit to what he can move. If he cannot, then there is a limit to what he can create. Either way, his power is limited.”
“And so an omnipotent God is a logical impossibility.”
“It’s paradoxical—a contradiction, just like so many tenants of your nonsensical faith.”
“Another deep insight by Corwin Holiday,” Ransom sardonically intoned.
“Sarcasm? From you?” Corwin feigned surprise. “I’m shocked! Do you always resort to insults when sound arguments fail you?”
“Of course not! Sometimes I resort to violence.”
It was probably meant as a joke, but the angel’s evil grin told Corwin not to push his luck.
Upon achieving the top of the stairs, Ransom took a second to scan the branching pathways before striking off to his right. The platform sloped upwards, the floor gently bending into a perpendicular wall, but its steep incline didn’t even slow him down. He casually walked up the side of the wall as if Newton’s law of gravity was actually just a suggestion.
“What are you waiting for?”
The sight of his attorney standing at a right angle above him was odd to say the least, but it wasn’t the strangest thing that Corwin had seen since leaving the mortal world. Raising her arms like a tightrope walker, Blue capered after Ransom on her tip toes.
“Here goes,” said Corwin.
He stepped warily onto the sloping bricks. The feeling was at once reassuring and disorienting. His footing was secure, the gravity shifting so that there was no risk of a backwards fall. Wherever the soles of his boots were planted, that was the new down. However, as he stared into the maze, at the sideways staircases and the floor that was now the wall, he couldn’t help but feel a little bewildered. Maybe his subconscious mind had conjured up this place from the stages of some puzzle video game that he’d once played. It looked nigh impossible to find your way anywhere, that is, unless you happened to be Ransom.
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