Origin (13 page)

As Langdon spoke, the ceiling flashed well-known Christian images of the Resurrection, the Virgin Mary, Noah’s Ark, the parting of the Red Sea, heaven, and hell.

“So just for a moment,” Langdon said, “let us imagine the reaction of humankind’s future historians and anthropologists. With the benefit of perspective, will they look back on our religious beliefs and categorize
them as the mythologies of an unenlightened time? Will they look at our gods as we look at Zeus? Will they collect our sacred scriptures and banish them to that dusty bookshelf of history?”

The question hung in the darkness for a long moment.

And then, abruptly, Edmond Kirsch’s voice broke the silence.

“YES, Professor,” the futurist boomed from on high. “I believe
all
of that will happen. I believe future generations will ask themselves how a technologically advanced species like ours could
possibly
believe most of what our modern religions teach us.”

Kirsch’s voice grew stronger as a new series of images splashed across the ceiling—Adam and Eve, a woman shrouded in a burka, a Hindu firewalk.

“I believe future generations will look at our current traditions,” Kirsch declared, “and conclude that we lived during an unenlightened time. As evidence, they will point to our beliefs that we were divinely created in a magical garden, or that our omnipotent Creator demands that women cover their heads, or that we risk burning our own bodies to honor our gods.”

More images appeared—a fast-moving montage of photographs depicting religious ceremonies from around the world—from exorcisms and baptisms to body piercing and animal sacrifices. The slide show concluded with a deeply unsettling video of an Indian cleric dangling a tiny infant over the edge of a fifty-foot tower. Suddenly the cleric let go, and the child plummeted fifty feet, straight down into an outstretched blanket, which joyful villagers held like a fireman’s net.

The Grishneshwar Temple drop
, Langdon thought, recalling that it was believed by some to bring God’s favor to a child.

Thankfully, the disturbing video came to an end.

In total darkness now, Kirsch’s voice resonated overhead. “How can it be that the modern human mind is capable of precise logical analysis, and yet simultaneously permits us to accept religious beliefs that should crumble beneath even the slightest rational scrutiny?”

Overhead, the brilliant sky of stars returned.

“As it turns out,” Edmond concluded, “the answer is quite simple.”

The stars in the sky grew suddenly brighter and more substantial. Strands of connecting fiber appeared, running between the stars to form a seemingly infinite web of interconnected nodes.

Neurons
, Langdon realized just as Edmond began to speak.

“The human brain,” Edmond declared. “Why does it believe what it believes?”

Overhead, several nodes flashed, sending pulses of electricity through the fibers to other neurons.

“Like an organic computer,” Edmond continued, “your brain has an operating system—a series of rules that organizes and defines all of the chaotic input that flows in all day long—language, a catchy tune, a siren, the taste of chocolate. As you can imagine, the stream of incoming information is frenetically diverse and relentless, and your brain must make sense of it all. In fact, it is the very programming of your brain’s operating system that defines your perception of reality. Unfortunately, the joke’s on us, because whoever wrote the program for the human brain had a twisted sense of humor. In other words, it’s not our fault that we believe the crazy things we believe.”

The synapses overhead sizzled, and familiar images bubbled up from within the brain: astrological charts; Jesus walking on water; Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard; the Egyptian god Osiris; Hinduism’s four-armed elephant god, Ganesha; and a marble statue of the Virgin Mary weeping literal tears.

“And so as a programmer, I have to ask myself: What kind of bizarre operating system would create such illogical output? If we could look into the human mind and read its operating system, we would find something like this.”

Four words appeared in giant text overhead.

“This is our brain’s root program,” Edmond said. “And therefore, this is exactly how humans are inclined. Against chaos. And in favor of order.”

The room trembled suddenly with a cacophony of discordant piano notes, as if a child were banging on a keyboard. Langdon and those around him tensed involuntarily.

Edmond yelled over the clamor. “The sound of someone banging randomly on a piano is unbearable! And yet, if we take those same notes and arrange them in a better
order
…”

The haphazard din immediately halted, supplanted by the soothing melody of Debussy’s “Clair de lune.”

Langdon felt his muscles relax, and the tension in the room seemed to evaporate.

“Our brains rejoice,” Edmond said. “Same notes. Same instrument.
But Debussy creates
order
. And it is this same rejoicing in the creation of order that prompts humans to assemble jigsaw puzzles or straighten paintings on a wall. Our predisposition to organization is written into our DNA, and so it should come as no surprise to us that the greatest invention the human mind has created is the computer—a machine designed specifically to help us create order out of chaos. In fact, the word in Spanish for computer is
ordenador
—quite literally, ‘that which creates
order
.’”

The image of a massive supercomputer appeared, with a young man sitting at its lone terminal.

“Just imagine you have a powerful computer with access to all of the information in the world. You are permitted to ask this computer any questions you like. Probability suggests you would eventually ask one of two fundamental questions that have captivated humans since we first became self-aware.”

The man typed into the terminal, and text appeared.

“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:

“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.

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.