The Good Atheist

by Michael Manto

  “No.”

  “My husband and I were both orthodox atheists, of course, raised in very traditional homes. My parents made me memorize the Creed when I was five. Anyway, soon after Amanda was born, we went down to the Temple for a dedication. Have you ever been to one?”

  “For some friends who had kids, sure.”

  “So we were standing up front, friends and family gathered around, inside this beautiful Temple dedicated to the power of Mother Nature, and I’m holding my baby and looking into her eyes, and began to recite the Creed, when suddenly I couldn’t finish it. I choked on the words and couldn’t bring myself to finish. That’s when I realized that I didn’t really believe it.”

  “What happened?”

  “I realized what the Creed was really asking me to believe. Believing the Creed meant I had to look into the eyes of my baby girl and be able to tell her, and tell myself, that she was just a meaningless meat bag of chemicals, an accidental spawn of an uncaring, impersonal, pitiless universe. That love and everything I felt for her and my husband was just a meaningless chemical response, an accident of evolution. Things that no polite atheist would ever say at a funeral or baby shower but must be true if atheism is true. I think that’s when I first realized that there must be a God, despite what I’d been taught at school. And I realized that I didn’t much care for the kind of society that atheism logically leads to. The moral relativism and free-fall. That anything goes and anything is allowed, as long as you can get away with it. The dog-eat-dog world. Who wants that kind of society?”

  “That’s not what the Creed asks you to recite.”

  “That’s what it asks you to believe. Try looking into a child’s eyes, or the eyes of your wife, and tell her it’s all meaningless and they are just accidents. That love and truth and beauty and justice and everything that makes human life worthwhile is an illusion. Go ahead, I dare you. I couldn’t do it.”

  “Look,” I said. “Evolution is a proven fact.”

  “Micro or macro?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Micro or macro evolution? To which are you referring?”

  “Both, I guess.”

  “There’s a big difference, so it’s important to understand what type of evolution you mean. Micro-evolution is about minor changes within a species. The change in the size and shape of finches’ beaks, that sort of thing. There’s no argument there. But macro-evolution – one species turning into another, fish becoming zebras, that sort of thing, is very different. It’s not very well supported by the fossil record. But even still, so what?”

  “So evolution means there is no God, whether or not we like the implications.”

  “It means nothing of the kind. In fact, since I started digging into this and thinking it through for myself, I’ve discovered that lots of scientists are perfectly comfortable squaring faith in God with evolution. Evolution doesn’t mean anything in and of itself. It’s just a physical process that says nothing about chance. I think it’s ironic, and just a tad hypocritical, that atheistic scientists claim that the universe is devoid of meaning, and then proceed to tell us what it’s all supposed to mean, using the scientific data to make metaphysical claims, insisting – often gleefully – that it’s all meaningless. Facts are just that - facts, and thank God for science. But meaning is a metaphysical layer we add to it and is another thing altogether. Science does not lead logically to atheism.”

  “There’s no proof for God.”

  “Oh please, spare me the simple-minded rhetoric. That’s simply not true. When I look at the overwhelming evidence of design, not only in the universe but in the biosphere of the earth and in our own bodies, right down to our DNA, to me that says more for God than against him. In fact, looking at the evidence objectively, science most definitely has not disproved God. The more we learn from science, the more it seems to point to, not away from, a creator.”

  We talked for a long time, and when it got too dark Paige called the kids in from the yard. She took them inside to get ready for bed. I remained outside on the porch, thinking about our conversation. I’d felt sure that I would be able to overwhelm her with the clear thinking of my arguments, and she’d come around to the truth. Instead, she had plenty of sound answers, and that realization annoyed me. I felt a lot of pride in my powers of reason and logic, in what I perceived as clear thinking. After all, what else did a man have? What was it that made us human but our reason, our minds? And now the possibility that it had failed me was terrifying.

  But why did I think that I could trust my own mind so much, if it was just an accident of evolution? After all, the end game of evolution is survival, pure and simple. Nothing more than mere existence is required. And it was abundantly apparent in the animal world that survival did not require brains or anything like moral sensibilities, only brawn. You just had to be stronger and faster than the other guy.

  Paige came back outside and sat down. I left the porch light off so we wouldn’t be swarmed with bugs. We both sat quietly in the dark, staring out at the near total blackness beyond the porch, listening to a symphony of crickets and bullfrogs serenading us.

  “Have you read the New Testament?” Paige asked softly.

  “I’m aware of a few passages,” I said. “Enough to know it’s bogus.”

  “You mean you’ve read a few snippets your teachers picked out for you and then told you what they meant. Have you read it for yourself from beginning to end?”

  I had to admit that I hadn’t. But, in my defense, it was illegal to do so. “I don’t need to read it. I know it’s wrong.”

  “You have a copy. I saw it in your den this morning.”

  “It was my grandfather’s. I’m still sorting through his stuff,” I said.

  “I became a Christian soon after I got my hands on a New Testament and read it through for myself,” Paige said. “It’s not at all like we were told in school. It’s a wonderful book that teaches love for others, even our enemies. The type of society it promotes – one that seeks to relieve poverty, and oppression -- is far ahead of our own society. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I liked it better than anything unguided evolution and atheism logically leads to.”

  Suddenly I felt very annoyed. “The New Testament is nothing but made-up fiction that supports slavery and racism,” I blurted. When lacking evidence, make your assertions stronger and louder.

  “Then you haven’t understood the New Testament at all. Christian leaders like Martin Luther King, Jr., were inspired by the New Testament to fight against racism. And the abolition movement in Britain and the United States was led by Christians who drew their inspiration from the Bible. They understood the Bible to teach equality for all and fought to bring an end to oppression and slavery.”

  I banged my coffee mug down on the table and stood up. “Religious people are stupid. They’re made to take court-ordered rehab for their own good, so don’t push your luck. I may still change my mind about calling the Tolerance Police.” I left the porch and stalked back inside, feeling a delicious pleasure with my parting shot. But as I got ready for bed, I couldn’t shake off an overwhelming sense of shame at how I’d used my position to threaten her. But why should that bother me, if we’re just animals produced by the blind, uncaring forces of evolution?

  11

  The next morning I found her sitting on the porch steps with her children. Her suitcase was packed and sitting on the step next to her.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. I stood on the porch behind her. There was a cool nip in the air. She twisted around to look at me. “Waiting for our ride. I’m expecting it this morning.”

  “You were expecting them yesterday too. What makes you think they’re coming today?”

  “We may have been mixed up on the precise day, or they were delayed.”

  “Well, you can hardly sit here all day.”

  “I don’t wish to be any more trouble to you, Jack. I appreciate the hospitality you’ve shown me. If my ride d
oesn’t show up in the next couple of hours I’ll take the children and walk into town.”

  “You can’t walk into town with two little kids and a suitcase. It’s ten miles.”

  “We can get there in a few hours.”

  “And what will you do when you get there?”

  “I have a cell phone. I’ll call a friend to come and get me.”

  “Look, the Inquisitors are looking for you. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I thought they locked us up for our own good. You said so yourself.” Her words were tinged with hurt, and I couldn’t blame her. I’d been a verbal bully the night before, for no other reason than I felt annoyed that she was not the mindless buffoon that I’d always assumed believers to be, and that revelation bothered me. How much more reassuring it would have been if they all were.

  “Look, I didn’t mean what I said last night.”

  “Which part? The part where you threatened to have me locked up? Or just the part where you called me stupid?”

  “Both.”

  “Are you in the habit of saying things you don’t mean, Jack?”

  I sighed. “Look, I’m not going to call the Tolerance Bureau. I was angry, all right. People say things they don’t really mean when they’re angry.”

  “And why were you angry? Did I say something to offend you? Did I insult you?”

  I massaged my temples. “Are you always this difficult to apologize to?”

  “I just want to know what you really mean this time. If I remember correctly, you were the one that called me stupid, not the other way around. I don’t understand why you got angry.”

  “Look, I’m trying to apologize, all right? What I said was rotten and it was not fair for me to threaten you like that.”

  She stood up. “I appreciate the difficult position I’ve put you in. I didn’t ask for this any more than you did. For some reason there was a mix-up or failure of communication in the underground, and they did not know of your grandfather’s death. So here you are, with three strangers in your home who have no place to go. While I’m not guilty of anything but free thought, under the law I’m a criminal. But you are going to have to make a decision. Either help me or turn me in.”

  “I already said I wouldn’t turn you in.”

  “Than I hope you are a man of your word.”

  My cheeks flushed with anger at the questioning of my character. My mother’s habitual lying had instilled within me a profound hatred of falsehood, and I grew up to dislike people whose word was cheap. But I wasn’t in the mood to be lectured, even if I had earned it.

  “All right already,” I protested. “Why don’t you get down off your little soapbox so we can move on? I said I would let you stay until help arrived, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Her countenance softened. “Fair enough, Jack. I believe you.” She turned to Amanda and Micah, who had been sitting on the porch with wide eyes following our heated discussion. “Come on, children. Let’s go back inside. We will be staying until our ride to Canada arrives.”

  The kids got up and walked around us towards the front door. “Micah, once you get your backpack inside, go back to raking the leaves. Amanda, get the dust cloth and dust the living room. We didn’t get to that yesterday.”

  “Yes, Mother,” they said in unison.

  “Paige, that really isn’t necessary.”

  She shifted her stance and crossed her arms. “I have no intention of freeloading. While we are here I have every intention of making ourselves useful and helping out. It’s the least we can do to repay your kindness.”

  “You’ve already done a lot. The place looks great.”

  “I’m not going to argue about it,” she said. Then she picked up her suitcase and went back inside.

  • • •

  Her ride did not show up that morning, or in the afternoon. Amanda kept busy with laundry and dusting. Paige took care of the cooking and cleaning while Micah raked leaves. Some of last year’s leaves still lay in drifts around the edges of the huge yard, against the fence line next to the woods, and under bushes.

  In the afternoon I went into town to get more groceries. With another adult and two children, what I had on hand wouldn’t last another day. I had no idea kids could eat so much. They were rapidly eating through my pantry. I filled two shopping carts and pull-pushed them up to the front. Since I didn’t know how much longer they would be staying, I stocked up on lots of extra nonperishables.

  Rashmir gave me a curious look while bagging my purchases. “This is a lot of food for one man. You expecting the Apocalypse or something?”

  I feigned a stern look. “Apocalypse is a religious term, Citizen, and inappropriate.” For a moment Rash looked nervous, as if I might call the police then and there. But then I smiled, and we both laughed.

  Trying to keep my tone casual, I said: “I’m just stocking up. I might be around for a while longer.” I didn’t want news of my unexpected guests to get around town. He scanned the last of my groceries, and eight hundred credits later he helped me bag them and carry it all out to the car.

  “We missed you at breakfast,” he said as he placed the last bag into the trunk.

  “I’ve been busy cleaning up the cottage.”

  “Well, hope to see you back soon,” he said with a friendly smile.

  “Thanks.” I found his warmth touching. “I’d like that.”

  He wiped his hands on his apron. “Well, I need to get back inside.” I think that was the first time a non-robot had helped me carry groceries out to the car. I remained next to my car, watching people pass on the sidewalk. All of them said hello, whether we had met before or not.

  I took my cellphone out of my pocket and called Selene.

  She answered on the first ring. “How is my long-lost husband?”

  “I did try calling several times.”

  “And just left messages.”

  “It’s not my fault if you’re not picking up.”

  “Your last message was two days ago. I’ve tried calling you back.”

  “There’s no coverage at the cottage, remember? This is my first time into town since I last called.”

  Dead air filled the cellular bandwidth between us.

  “I’m fine, by the way,” I finally said.

  “When are you coming back?”

  I didn’t want to tell her about Paige and the real reason I needed to stay. “It’s hard to say. Not too much longer. I just need a few more days.”

  “I thought you only took vacation for this week.”

  “I’m going to call my boss and ask for a few more days.”

  “What’s going on? What are you doing up there?”

  “Nothing’s going on,” I said. I told her about all the work I’d been doing to fix the place up, hoping that would impress her. “We need to clean the place out, whether we sell or decide to keep it. But I need another few days to finish up.”

  “What do you mean, whether we decide to keep it? Jack, there is no decision. I don’t want to keep that old place.”

  “I want to talk about that when I get home, okay. I’ve got some ideas.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “Later next week.”

  “You said you just needed a couple more days.”

  “Yes, well, I might need a while longer. I’m still trying to turn up some more clues.”

  “Jack, don’t you think you’re taking this a bit too far? He’s gone. You need to accept that.”

  “That’s pretty cold, Selene.”

  “It’s the truth. You are in line for promotion, remember? At least you were, if you haven’t already flushed it down the toilet. Do you think they’re still going to want to give it to you?”

  “So what do you want me to do? Just drop everything, forget about my dad, go back to work and be a good boy? Hunker down and behave myself, and pretend like none of this happened?”

  “It’s the sensible thing to do. What are you going to gain?”

  �
�I’ll be back in a week,” I said, and disconnected abruptly. I’d hoped for more understanding concerning my father.

  • • •

  My next call was to my boss. I caught her on the treadmill. “Jack honey! We’ve missed you around here!” She had a deep throaty voice that always reminded me of a washed-up lounge singer who smoked too much.

  “That’s nice to know. I’m sure the place is collapsing around your ears without me.”

  She had a rasping laugh. “You know it. How’s vacation?”

  “Good. Look, that’s what I’m calling about. I need a few more days.”

  My words were met by silence, and I could feel her annoyance seeping through the phone.

  “I thought we had a deal.”

  “We do. But my promise was to work all the overtime necessary to get caught up - not on a specific date when I returned.”

  “If we let this slide it will be too late. No amount of overtime will be enough to catch up.”

  “We’re still good,” I said. “I’ll get back next week. There’s still plenty of time.”

  “What do you need the extra time for? Is there a problem in paradise?”

  “No, just a big mess.” I painted for her a tale of woe concerning the condition of the cottage and the amount of work needed to whip it into shape. “I’ve easily got enough banked hours.”

  “I’ll check with HR, but for now I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Come on, Sandra. You know I do. I haven’t taken a day off in two years.”

  “All right already. I’ve heard the speech before. But we’ve got deadlines.”

  “There are always deadlines.”

  “Yes, but my butt is really on the line with this one.” She said that with each one. The fate of the free world hung in the balance with every project.

  “Correction. It’s my butt that’s on the line. I’m the project manager, remember. You get the credit when things go well, and I get the crap when it doesn’t.”

  She laughed again. “That’s the way of the world, Jack.” There was a moment’s pause, then: “Okay, one more week. But I got to have you back by then. No more extensions.”