The Good Atheist

by Michael Manto

  I smiled and lifted my coffee mug towards them but remained seated. Standing still felt far too adventurous.

  An Executrix got out of the back of the car. Tall and wispy, dressed in white, she seemed very frail and delicate next to the thugs escorting her. She had a long neck, high cheekbones, and wide, full lips. If it were not for the large cerebral enhancements surrounding her shaved head, she would have been angelic.

  The electronic implants began behind her ears and formed a semi-circle around the back of her head. The implants were used for communications, data access, and accelerated thought processing. They were hardwired directly through the skull into the brain, and provided instance access to the internet and the Tolerance Bureau’s vast intelligence database.

  It was, essentially, a computer hardwired into her brain. Thought I/O really found its place with cerebral implants. An Executrix underwent years of mental training and conditioning to learn how to control and use the cerebral implants with their thoughts.

  I knew all this because I’d read about it in TIME magazine last year.

  All this made it very tough to win an argument with an Executrix. Kind of like arm wrestling a robot, cerebrally speaking.

  I was going to have my work cut out for me, and I was only on my second cup of coffee.

  Thought I/O has been around for years, of course. I have one in my car, although I still find it hard to use. But sometimes I can, just for fun, successfully think my request and get it right if I concentrate hard enough. In most applications it’s just a gimmick, and I still find it easier to simply speak to the computer.

  I guess I’m just old-fashioned that way.

  The Executrix ascended the stairs towards me. Her smooth stride made it appear almost as if she was gliding up the stairs, adding to the overall angelic effect. If her head had been graced with long blonde hair instead of shaved, the effect would have been almost perfect. I wondered if they were aware of the effect, whether it was cultivated deliberately, and if they were aware of the irony embodied in that.

  Selene came out the door just in time to observe the Executrix walking up the porch steps. Her eyes widened and she almost genuflected. “Oh, uh… good morning, Executrix.” Selene sputtered, pronouncing ‘Executrix’ with a tone of reverence and inflection that people in another age might have reserved for ‘Lord’ or ‘Bishop’.

  The Executrix made an almost imperceptible inclination of her head. “Good day to you, Citizen.” Then she turned to me. “And good day to you, Citizen.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t stand up, Executrix. I’m still a bit stiff and sore from the beating your people gave me last night.”

  Selene shot me a look that might have killed a lesser man. The Executrix’s smile was entirely devoid of human warmth. “You, of course, must be Citizen Callaghan.”

  I tipped my coffee mug towards her. “Yours truly.”

  “I shouldn’t complain too loudly, if I were you. We could have just as easily arrested you.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “We are not entirely without compassion, Citizen. Our mandate is to liberate the mind, not incarcerate, when possible.”

  “Catchy. You should put that to a rap tune. It would make a swell radio jingle.”

  The Executrix regarded me coolly before answering. “I’ve accessed your profile. Clearly the reports of your sarcastic wit have not been exaggerated.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “But we will still incarcerate if need be, so be warned.”

  “Okay, so I’m warned.”

  “Would you like a coffee, Executrix? Tea?” Selene asked.

  The Executrix made a dismissive wave with a hand. “Not now, thank you. Just some privacy, if you please.”

  “I was hoping to sit in on my husband’s counseling. I think I can be of help. I want him to get better.”

  “We find that counseling is much more effective when conducted privately with the patient.”

  Apparently Selene had not expected this. She looked around uncertainly but did not move. “I’d like my wife to remain,” I said. I didn’t want the counseling at all, but I didn’t like the way the Executrix was talking down to my wife.

  “I’m afraid that’s not an option, and I’m not overly concerned with what you think.” Then she said in Selene’s general direction, “Please.”

  Duly dismissed, Selene went back into the cottage.

  “Listen, lady, I don’t like you talking to my wife like that.”

  She smiled dangerously. “Let’s not quibble, Citizen. I’m here to help you.” The Executrix pulled one of the chairs over and sat across from me. “Do you understand the purpose of my visit, Citizen?”

  “I could guess, but let’s hear it just so there’s no confusion.”

  “I’m here to assess you and determine what course of action we should take. A lot depends on how you answer my questions, Citizen, so consider carefully and try to restrain your sharp tongue.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “You have the right to choose not to answer my questions, but that would mean jail.”

  “Not much of a choice.”

  “There are several counseling streams available to citizens such as yourself who are suspected of falling into cerebral aberration, depending on the seriousness of the condition. For the less serious cases, the patient is not removed from their home or place of employment and is required only to undergo voluntary therapeutic counseling. They remain free as long as they continue to attend counseling and education classes. These can be scheduled around their hours of employment, although we find the employers are usually very accommodating.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “As long as the person passes the counseling and is cured of his metaphysical leanings, nothing further comes of it. Let’s hope for your sake you fall into this category.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “The remaining options are somewhat less attractive. For more challenging cases, there is voluntary rehab. This is open to those who recognize they have a problem and are willing to seek help before it is too late. It usually goes better for those. Our cure rate is very encouraging with this group.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “The more obstinate and unrepentant cases are incarcerated at one of our educational facilities, where they undergo an intensive treatment of counseling, re-education, and gene therapy. This is usually reserved for hardened religious cases unwilling or perhaps unable to see that they have a problem. We find this is the unfortunate condition of most Christians and Muslims. You do not want this, Citizen. The success rate for this group is very low.”

  “I’m not a Christian or a Muslim, so I don’t think that applies to me.”

  “I’m most gratified to hear that. You may still be redeemable. There is a continuum of religious and metaphysical thought, all of which is dangerous and must be purged from society. I need to determine your location along that continuum in order to prescribe the correct series of counseling for you. Don’t be afraid, Citizen. I’m here to help you.”

  You’re here to take me away and lock me up if you sniff a whiff of metaphysical leanings, I thought. I couldn’t help but look over at her two large friends by the car, and said nothing.

  With that she launched into a series of questions, most of which came straight from the catechism. It was easy enough to see that I was being tested for intellectual orthodoxy. Since I was an honest atheist, I had nothing to hide. It was only towards the end that I realized she’d been playing cerebral cat-and-mouse with me.

  “You are standing at the top of a slippery slope, Citizen. You may not believe in God yet, but your actions last night indicate you may be slipping that way.”

  “If you are referring to Paige, I think I can help someone in need without getting religious.”

  “This is not like pulling over to assist a stranded motorist. You knowingly helped a person with obvious religious convictions, and you did not report her to t
he proper authorities. This is very concerning. I’d like to know why.”

  I’d asked myself the same question many times over the past couple of days. Maybe I was getting soft, but Paige was no more a danger to society than I was. She was just a scared young woman. I looked at the Executrix and asked myself how honest I should be. She had the power to send me away for a very long time.

  And yet I found myself feeling bone-weary of it all. I didn’t care any more. I didn’t want to live in a society where I had to be circumspect with what I thought or afraid to let others know. I’d always said what I thought. Until now, that had never been a problem because my atheism was sincerely held. I really believed it was the truth, so I could say what I thought with impunity. I’d never really noticed before this past week how difficult it was for all the rest who thought otherwise.

  “Look, Executrix. I’ve got nothing to hide. I helped that girl because I saw a frightened young mother afraid of having her kids taken away. I guess I didn’t particularly care what her beliefs were.”

  “You are an admitted collaborationist, then.”

  I favored her with one of my most charming smirks. “Absolutely not. I’m a Democrat.”

  “This is not the time for humor. Your situation is very serious, Citizen. As a collaborationist, you are guilty of sympathizing with religionists.”

  “I liked her. She was a nice kid.”

  “Ideas are what make people dangerous. You should know that from the Creed.”

  “Her ideas didn’t seem dangerous to me. In fact, a lot of them seemed pretty good. Love your neighbour. Don’t kill. Do unto others what you’d like them to do to you. Treat other people the way you’d like to be treated. Help others in need.”

  “You discussed religious ideas with her, then?”

  I shrugged. “Sure, we talked. If you spend enough time with someone, unless you’re the kind of person who enjoys talking about the weather all day, you’re bound to get into something interesting.”

  “You seem to have some sympathy for her beliefs.”

  “Look, I wear big-boy pants now. I have my reasons for being an atheist, but I think she had some good reasons for her beliefs. And we were able to talk about it and still be nice, and I think I even got to like her at the end. We used to live in a country like that, where people could believe different things and still respect each other and live in peace. I think adults ought to be able to do that. Isn’t that what tolerance means?”

  She clasped her hands on her lap. “How hopelessly quaint. But there are no good reasons for belief in God, and therefore that makes believers dangerously irrational. Believing in something without sufficient evidence is a mark of insanity. You must know this.”

  This is the cornerstone of intellectual orthodoxy. This refrain had been drummed into my head since I was old enough to carry my Spiderman lunch box to school. I thought about the stacks of books in Grandpa’s den, conversations with Lucius, Jorge, and others I’d met, including Paige. The people I read about in some of Grandpa’s history books who believed. Scientists, civil-rights leaders. These were not people of blind faith, taking a leap in the dark. They had good reasons for believing. They were not irrational.

  I suppose this was one of those moments when a more prudent man would know when to give the expected answer. Smart people did it in job interviews all the time. They also did it when facing a firing squad.

  I’m not that smart. I leaned forward a bit. “Listen, that chip lodged inside your head might make you smarter than me, but that doesn’t make you right. They have some good reasons for believing. But I can believe in something without cherishing the infantile belief that others are stupid. I don’t have to demonize them to disagree with them. I’m a good atheist, Executrix, and I resent being questioned like this.” You really need to learn when to shut up, Callaghan, I thought to myself. I was talking my way into rehab. I looked over at the two Inquisitors at the bottom of the stairs. They looked back at me like a couple of vultures sizing up dinner. All they needed was that nod from the angel sitting across from me.

  She leaned back in her chair. “This is not the orthodox answer,” she said coolly.

  “I guess I’m an unorthodox atheist.”

  Some Executrixes shut their eyes when interfacing with their implants, probing the data chips in their heads with their thoughts. The really good ones do it with their eyes open while looking at you. They were the truly scary ones. The Executrix’s eyes went expressionless for a moment. She was still looking at me but no longer saw me. Her eyes glazed over as she interfaced with her implants. Much like what normal people do when trapped with a relative or office bore who talked too much.

  A moment later she was back from the recesses of her mind.

  “Why are you pursuing questions about your father?”

  I tried playing dumb. “I’m sorry? What are you talking about?”

  “The trip to Iowa.”

  “I like the weather in Iowa this time of year.”

  “You visited Lucius Rex Singh. Why did you drive all the way to Iowa to see him? There are no records of a friendship between the two of you.”

  “You’re the brainiac. You tell me.”

  “The inference is not difficult to make. You’re trying to learn something of your father.”

  “Is that a crime now?”

  She held my eyes with a look of disdain. “You’re just like your father was. But no matter. After today these people you seem to hold in such high regard will receive the punishment they deserve.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She smiled dangerously. “You’ll know soon enough.” Then she stood up and looked at me. A long and silent moment passed between us. I braced myself for her pronouncement of judgment.

  Instead, she said: “Go home, Citizen. Go back to your little life and be content, and don’t trouble yourself with questions over God and religion any more. No good can come of it, and it will only bring you grief.”

  “I disagree. Those are the only questions worth asking.”

  “Only a fool persists in asking questions that can’t be answered, Citizen.” Then she turned away from me and headed down the steps. When she got to the bottom one of the Inquisitors opened the back door for her while the other got into the driver’s door. I realized I was not going to be arrested.

  “You aren’t arresting me?”

  Her smile was dismissive. “I’m satisfied that you’re an atheist. You’ve been much too candid and bold to be pretending otherwise, and I have better things to do this afternoon. The rehabs are about to be full and we have limited room in this region. We don’t have room for borderline cases like you. Instead, I’m going to order that you take counseling. A counselor in your area will be in contact with you shortly. Your employer will be notified so that you will be given time off during the day. Good day, Citizen.”

  She got into the car and the Inquisitor closed the door behind her. Then they glided off down the driveway. Selene came back to the porch on cue, just as the Tolerance car hovered away, as if she had been waiting by the door.

  It was just as well. We needed to talk. I couldn’t see myself playing along as if nothing had happened the night before. Sometimes when something hurtful occurs between a couple, they are too afraid or in too much pain to talk about it, and they find it easier to avoid the topic. So they just dance around the issue. Sometimes the dance goes on for years and the bad music never stops.

  I’d seen it happen to other couples, and I decided long ago that I did not want to ever end up like that, so before the music started I was determined to have the conversation we needed to have.

  She sat down across from me and looked at me over a mug of tea. “They’re going to take her children away, you know,” I said.

  She looked away, over my head towards the yard behind me. “That’s not my problem.”

  “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  “What else is there to say?”

  “They c
ould have sent me away too. I can’t believe you did that.”

  Her eyes swung back to me. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you didn’t leave me much choice. If that’s what you needed, then it would have been for your own good. You need help. Can’t you see that?”

  “Not much choice?” I echoed.

  “What else was I supposed to do? She was a runaway.”

  “You didn’t have to turn her in. She wasn’t a threat to anyone, just a frightened young mother wanting to keep her children.”

  Her lower lip tightened. “She was a threat to us. To you.”

  I wondered if she would have turned Paige in if she had been a man, or old, or ugly. “Were you jealous?”

  She looked away suddenly. “Oh, please.”

  When she didn’t answer, I plunged on. “Selene, there was nothing going on. You can get that straight in your head right now. She was just a young mother in trouble, and I couldn’t live with myself if I’d left her out in the cold. That’s it.”

  “No, Jack, that’s not entirely it and you know it.”

  “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

  “What I mean is that you have been going soft in the head lately. Getting metaphysical notions. Entertaining thoughts of intellectual anarchy. I couldn’t watch what was happening to you any longer.”

  “I see no harm in free thought.”

  She directed an index finger at me. “You see. That’s my point. Free thought has been clearly defined and you are deviating from it. I had to do something.”

  “At the risk of stating the obvious, I think that free thought ought to allow us to explore ideas and come to our own conclusions.”

  “Fine, as long as it doesn’t include God.”

  “So, in order to get back at me, you turned Paige in.”

  She stood up, her angry words saturated with hurt. “You put me in this position, Jack. By bringing that girl in, you put me in a position where I was forced to make a terrible choice. You forced me into calling the Tolerance Police, putting us both at risk. Instead of being angry, you should thank me. If it wasn’t for me, they would have taken you away along with Paige.”

  “What do I have to thank you for?”