The Soul of the Matter (26 page)

“And then comes cognition,” Dan added.

“That's right. But we're a long way off and need better tools. Right now, we've only been able to see rudimentary activity at the neuron level. Watch this,” the director said. “What you're seeing are individual neurons firing in response to visual stimuli showing the locations in the brain associated with the corresponding mental processes. It's quite exciting, actually.”

“What did Dr. Bishop think when he saw this?” Dan asked.

“Like you, he was only here briefly. He had one interest. I remember it because of the conversation I heard he had before he came by and because of the discomfort the topic seemed to give those he discussed it with. He wanted to know what we thought about the basis of consciousness. We actually have a good understanding of it. Francis Crick wrote a book on it called
The
Astonishing Hypothesis
. Basically, it's about how quantum mechanics effects inside neurons generate consciousness.”

“You've proven this?” Trish asked.

“Not yet, but it's only a matter of time. Almost all scientists in this field recognize that discrete, individual particles consisting only of objective states, such as the spin of an electron, cannot, by themselves, generate whole, subjective experiences. There has to be something that ties the individual states and processing together. The only thing that can do that is quantum mechanics–based. In time, we'll be able to demonstrate the scientific basis for it.”

“You mean since there is no soul, no immaterial mind, the cause must be material, and you just have to keep looking to find it,” Dan said, remembering what Stephen had written in his journals.

“Absolutely correct. No spiritualism to fill temporary gaps in scientific knowledge. Only natural causes for natural effects,” said the director emphatically.

“Which means all we are is just biological robots with the illusion
of meaning, purpose, love, free will, morality, and intrinsic value,” Dan added.

The director shifted in his seat. “I wouldn't say it that way, but yes, in the end we're temporary collections of atoms.”

Dan restrained himself and didn't ask the director what he thought as he kissed his
biological robot
offspring
good night. Was the love he felt for them an illusion to be overcome? Instead, he pointed at the poster on the wall for a conference held in 2006 called Beyond Belief: Science, Religion, Reason and Survival. Dan asked, “What was that about?”

With obvious pride the director said, “The conference was organized in response to the Templeton Foundation's efforts to merge science and religion. We weren't trying to fund scientists to say mean things about religion, but wanted to make sure all study is focused on scientific learning.”

“And since religion is neither science nor worthwhile learning, it must be kept out of the sphere of all research that aspires to have anything to say about the universe and life. Science can't appear to give any legitimacy to religious belief,” Dan said, playing along.

“Well, since you put it that way, yes,” the director said.

“And who were the main participants in this conference?” Dan asked, knowing full well from Stephen's journals.

“Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, Michael Shermer, Francisco Ayala—” the director began before Dan interrupted.

“Isn't Ayala the ex-priest who said God couldn't have created humans, as that would make Him responsible for human suffering, and that would be blasphemy?” Dan said.

“That's right. He's a remarkable evolutionary biologist.”

“I thought the object was to keep religious views out of science. Sounds like he's using his understanding of theology, such that it is, to make scientific conclusions.” As the director's face turned a shade of red, Dan added, “I'm greatly impressed by your research. I certainly don't want to give the impression that I think there is some ghost inside the skull doing all the work.”

Relaxing a little, the director said, “That's good to hear. In some quarters, the things we don't yet know about consciousness are
being used as a weapon against science. Even the NYU philosopher Thomas Nagel, who's an atheist, has asserted that Darwinian evolution can't explain the origin of consciousness. Of course, we're able to refute the arguments in his book, but damage is done when his antiscience assertions receive any press.”

Dan looked down at Stephen's notes, which were stored on his tablet. “Well, it's a good thing he didn't say that until science has proven how consciousness works, what's called natural selection is arguably intelligent selection and evolution is not a process based strictly on physical matter, that in fact it leaves room for a God to operate. Now, that would have been really upsetting,” Dan said. His tone was serious enough, so as to not insult the director, but still left room for doubt for his actual intent.

The director cleared his throat and he stood to guide Dan and Trish toward the door. “I hope I've given you a good appreciation for our center. If there is anything else you'd like to know, just call me. I'll be happy to help.” It didn't sound like he meant it.

Once they were out of the director's hearing, Trish said, “You continue to argue against the position you say you hold. Why is that?”

“I don't like intellectual dishonesty. It means that either they don't want to acknowledge the weakness in their views or that they don't trust the public to come to the right conclusions about any current gaps in knowledge.”

“So you're antagonistic against people who hold similar views just because of the way they represent them, not because you disagree with them?” Trish said.

Dan didn't have an answer.

“Perhaps you're not being intellectually honest about what you truly believe,” Trish said.

“The problem is that I understand what materialism is, don't like its implications, but don't believe in God as the alternative.”

“You sound like you're at risk for finding out you have meaning.”

“What about you? Do you believe it is better to believe in life having meaning, to be wonderful to people, be personally happy, yet believe there is no spiritual basis for it? Do you think a God would provide all of this and then expect nothing in return? Or do you think
that at a minimum, he wouldn't require us to recognize what would have to be our true nature and relationship to him?

“No.”

“Exactly. Now you understand my dilemma.”

“Anger isn't the best response to it,” Trish said.

“I'm trying,” Dan answered.

“Yes, you most certainly are,” Trish said, patting Dan twice on his shoulder. He stopped to look at her, a wide smile crossing his face, and then he grabbed the hand that had patted him and said, “You should be proud of me.”

“Why's that?” Trish.

“I didn't ask the director what makes the natural sciences so natural.”

“I'm amazed at your restraint,” Trish said facetiously, then withdrew her hand.

•  •  •

As they walked back to Dr. Chamberlain's office, another flash of light caught Dan's eye. He turned and saw a figure that seemed to linger just long enough to be deliberately seen before withdrawing behind a corner of a building and out of sight. Before they left, Dan planned to check it out.

Trish noticed his unease, and said, “Overall, a disappointing day. I thought this place held real promise. I doubt we'll find much at the Discovery Institute. And after that . . . ”

“I have other leads I can show you when we get back. We're not at a dead end,” Dan said, thinking of Galileo and gaining access to Stephen's work files. And there had to be something in those journals that would point them in the right direction.

“What did you make of the discussions Stephen had?” Trish asked.

“It's hard for people here to relate to what he was working on. They're good people doing important work, but they operate in a culture that, oddly enough, limits their own learning.”

“You sound a bit like Stephen.” She gave him a look he couldn't interpret, then said, “That's not a bad thing.”

Hearing that made Dan realize he wanted to keep rising in her esteem.

•  •  •

Back in the president's office, Trish said, “Thank you very much for your hospitality. It was a helpful visit. I think it's only a matter of time before we develop the necessary understanding of Stephen's work and are in a position to help resume it. At that time, we'd like to continue our discussion and see if there are opportunities to collaborate.”

“By all means. Despite the tough initial reception he received, we're intrigued by Dr. Bishop's work on algorithmic gene expression,” Chamberlain said.

“Great. Thank you again,” Dan said as they left the office.

By the front doors, Dan motioned for Trish to stop. “Wait two minutes, then walk to the center of the plaza and stand there as though you are waiting impatiently for me. I'll join you a few minutes after that. I want to see if anyone hanging around the institute has something to say to us but has been too shy.”

“What are you going to do? Nothing foolish, I hope,” Trish said.

“Just making sure that if anyone is watching you, it's because they admire you,” Dan said with a wink and a smile. He looked at his watch and walked down the hall toward the end of the building where he had last seen the flash.

After two and a half minutes, he eased out the door and peered toward the corner of the building that had a view of the center of plaza. Off to the edge was a woman holding binoculars to her eyes, facing Trish. Dan looked around for the other person but didn't see him. He walked slowly by the side of the building and Dan approached the woman. Dan tapped her right shoulder and said, “Mind if I borrow those and see what's so interesting?”

She smiled as though she was expecting him, though there was a chilling hardness in her eyes. Her green eyes were as murky as the ocean. Her frosted blond hair fluttered in the breeze. Without changing her expression, she shot her free hand toward Dan's throat. Before it got anywhere near its target, Dan grabbed her wrist. She
swung the binoculars with her other hand, but Dan grabbed it and then twisted both her hands so she was turned away from him, immobilized.

“As much as I want to be a gentlemen, I really don't like being attacked. How about telling me what you're up to before I have security check you out?”

“You don't know what you're dealing with,” she hissed.

“A lot of people say that. Maybe I don't care—” Before he finished speaking, a hand slammed against the back of his head, and another pulled on his left shoulder, spinning him around as he lost his grip on the woman. Slightly stunned, he stood face-to-face with Sergei.

Wrath crossed Dan's face as he looked at the man who was responsible for the Sarasovs' deaths, and also probably for Stephen's.

Sergei's initial expression of contempt turned to surprise when Dan said, “You killed the Sarasovs, you shot me as I carried their young son, and you were involved in Stephen Bishop's death. It ends now.” As Sergei's eyes shot to Dan's left arm, Dan began to strike with his right hand. Before he could finish the blow, the woman slammed the binoculars on his head. Dan crashed down onto his knees. Slowly gathering himself, he looked up to see that Sergei and the woman were gone and Trish was approaching with institute security guards.

“I thought I told you not to do anything foolish,” Trish said with worry in her voice.

Getting back to his feet, Dan said, “We're going to have to rethink our approach.”

Chapter 53

A
fter thirty minutes of searching online, Dan and Trish arrived at a location off the beaten path in San Diego to pick up a 1995 Mustang.

He paid for the car using a fake driver's license and prepaid credit card, and declined the use of an automated toll-collection device.

It was time to go dark. No electronic, visual, or monetary tracks. Travel as a ghost. No way for anyone to know where they were or that they were headed to Seattle. He hadn't booked any lodgings or flights in advance. They had already turned off their cell phones' location services and powered them down.

Dan held the car door for Trish as she lowered herself into the leather seats. After buckling his seat belt, Dan said, “You should nap whenever you can, since we'll be driving through the night.”

“How many miles is it?” Trish asked.

“About twelve hundred and fifty using the fastest route. But we're going to avoid roads with bridges with license plate readers and facial recognition imaging. That'll add over a hundred miles. Since we have to watch our speed to avoid being stopped, and factoring in a few bathroom breaks, it'll take us almost twenty-two hours to get there.”

“What happened back there? Who were they?” Trish asked.

“I don't know about the woman, but the big guy was Sergei. He was once a Soviet KGB agent but now is working for some other organization interested in Stephen's work,” Dan said. He didn't want to worry Trish by telling her just how dangerous Sergei was. While she was with him, Dan would avoid Sergei. But eventually, on his own, Dan would go after him.

“You two have a history,” Trish stated.

“What do you mean?”

“I saw it. You recognized each other. What was that about?”

“Eighteen years ago, as an intelligence field agent, I was helping an important scientist, and his wife and son, leave Russia. The mission failed. Sergei had the parents shot in front of their young boy. Evans was with me. Sergei got away,” Dan said, looking off into the distance, beyond the horizon.

Placing her left hand on Dan's right shoulder, Trish asked, “What happened to the boy?”

“Evans brought him back to his home and we both searched for relatives. I found cousins in Israel and they raised him. I don't know what happened after that.”

She watched him for a moment. “What aren't you telling me? I have a right to know.”

“Two days ago, Evans showed me pictures of Sergei that placed him in Stephen's vicinity at the time of his death. My guess is that Sergei is working for people who were after Stephen's research. They must be following us, thinking we may lead them to one of Stephen's collaborators. Otherwise we'd already be in deep trouble. Either that or they just happened to be on the same trail. That's why we're traveling this way. Now no one will be able to find us,” Dan said, still trying to understate the threat Sergei and his people posed.

“Will we run into them again in Seattle?”

“I don't think so. Where we're going next has very little to do with Stephen's known work. And this time, no one will be able to have any idea of where we're going.”

“And?”

He figured it was no use denying it any further, and, as she'd said, she had a right to know. Dan said, “This has to stay between us. Stephen asked certain things of me, including secrecy. The night he died, he left me a message saying to be on the lookout for a collaborator of his who would use the code name Galileo. Everywhere we've been, I've been looking for that person. I think Sergei is looking for him, too. You are the only one who knows this. Please keep it that way.”

“You shouldn't keep things from me.”

Dan didn't answer.

Driving on the busy freeway, Dan felt strange without the technology he had in his own car. Yet, being off the grid, a quiet confidence surrounded him. Thinking back eighteen years to the fateful border encounter with Sergei, Dan felt sadness for young Mikhail Sarasov.

Though her head was tilted back and her eyes closed, Trish said, “It's okay to hurt, to feel sorrow. Just don't let it change you into something you shouldn't be.”

“I'm not.”

“Good. You have a lot you still need to do, and it will take the best of you.”

“You speak as though you know more of me than you possibly can,” Dan said.

“What I don't already know, I'm learning fast,” Trish said softly.

Before she ever got to the point of really knowing him, Dan was determined to be a different person than he had been. Something had already changed within him, and he wanted the rest to follow.

•  •  •

The first hours of driving, though through several stretches of moderate traffic, had been deceptively tranquil. A smattering of small talk had interrupted their churning inner thoughts. Trish's, like his, probably revolved around what they needed to do, what had happened, and what lay ahead. His attention was also focused on the vehicles around him, and he was alert to the possibility that, despite his precautions, they could still be followed.

With Los Angeles behind them, and the road opening up, he decided to try to ease the atmosphere and also learn more about Trish.

“Mind if I put on some music? We have a long way to go and it helps pass the time,” Dan said as he connected his smartphone to a tape cassette player adapter inserted in the car's radio.

“Go ahead,” Trish said.

“I'll pick things that you might like.”

“Don't worry about it. It'll be amusing to find out what you like,” Trish said.

“I'm glad I'm a source of entertainment for you.”

“Everyone has a positive contribution to make. Providing comic relief for others might be yours,” Trish said laughingly.

“I had no idea you talked like this. You struck me as more respectful of people, especially those you don't really know.”

“Just kidding around. I'll stop.”

“Whatever suits you. I can deal with it,” Dan said.

“Tell me what song or playlist you want and I'll put it on.”

“Normally, I like to start long road trips with something rousing. How about ‘Ramblin' Man'? It's in the Allman Brothers playlist.”

“About what I expected,” Trish said, smiling.

“Hey, my parents weren't outlaws, I wasn't born in a bus and it's a great sound.”

“No need to be defensive.”

As the song ended, Dan said, “Okay, you pick the next one.”

The live version of Marshall Tucker's “24 Hours at a Time” began playing.

“Good choice. How come a half-Jewish girl from the Northeast knows so much about southern rock?”

“My father played lots of the music when I was growing up and still takes me to concerts.”

“Sounds like a great dad. Aren't you young for parents who are probably in their sixties? Do you have older siblings?”

“No, it's just me. For a while, they got caught up in the whole ‘world is too dangerous to have kids' thing. Eventually, they calmed down, got what they once called establishment jobs, and then had me.”

“Lucky for Ava, and others, of course,” Dan said trying to sound friendlier.

“What about you? What's your family like?” Trish said, ignoring his comment.

Despite trying to focus the conversation on Trish, Dan spent the next ten minutes talking about his deceased parents, moving from Brooklyn, his sister, growing up with Stephen, and the highlights of his career.

As the song ended, he said, “Let's make it interesting and take turns picking songs that we think fits the other.”

“Are you always this presumptuous?” Trish said.

“Sometimes. And we have a long way to go and a lot to do. It would be good if we got to know each other better,” Dan said.

“You think you can pick a song that reflects me? Go ahead,” Trish said in a voice that was both amused and challenging.

“I can't decide. How about Cat Stevens, ‘Moonshadow,' followed by ‘Peace Train,' ” Dan said.

As the music began, he said, “I've revealed a lot more about me than you have about yourself. That seems to happen a lot with you.”

“What would you like to know? I'm not that interesting,” Trish said.

“Humor me. What you were like growing up? Why did you became a doctor? What do you want out of life? You know, the little things that make a person who they are.” What he didn't ask, and didn't want to know yet, was whether she had a boyfriend. No reason to place that barrier there prematurely if she had someone.

“I want the same things I think you do, only I haven't doubted or thought about them as much. My childhood started out unconventional and became more conventional as my parents became less counterculture.”

“Funny how that works when people have to pay bills.”

Trish ignored Dan's poor attempt at wit and said, “My father is even becoming religiously observant. I attended an alternative middle school that emphasized communal ideals. I spent parts of summers in Israel on a kibbutz and then later worked in medical clinics. That developed my interest in medicine. Though my parents had the means for high-end private schools, they insisted I attend public schools.”

Feeling guilty about his prior comment, and genuinely impressed, Dan said, “The background they gave you is remarkable.”

“Thank you. After high school, I went to a small college and then medical school. Though I am not Catholic, one of my idols is Dorothy Day. I admire what she did for those most in need. It led to me specializing in pediatric oncology because those patients and families need the most comforting. It's inspiring how much hope there can be in situations that call mostly for despair.”

The previous song over, Trish selected another, and Van Morrison's “Enlightenment” began playing.

“Good choice. Is this what you believe?” Dan said.

“I've leaned toward Eastern philosophy, though I'm wondering if more than that will be needed. There are good messages in this, regardless.”

“Yes there are.”

The song over, Dan picked Michael Franti's “The Sound of Sunshine,” a happy, upbeat, song.

“I like this. Thank you,” Trish said. After that ended, she played Bruce Springsteen's “Growing Up” and then “No Surrender.”

“A message as much as a commentary, I think,” Dan said.

“Could be,” Trish answered, a sly smile crossing her face that Dan liked.

Broaching the topic again, Trish asked, “You once mentioned something about it all started with Grace, but not in the religious sense. What was that about?”

Taking a deep breath, Dan began. “Grace was my next-door neighbor. We were born within weeks of each other. We were young enough that we could be good friends without boy-girl complications getting in the way. One day, when we were eleven, she was playing capture the flag at her house with some other friends. She thought the sliding door was open, and was running furiously from pursuit, and she ran straight through the closed door, shattering the glass and slicing her leg. A tourniquet barely kept her from bleeding to death on the way to the hospital. We all prayed intensely for her, especially me. The prayers seemed to work, but then an infection sprouted that led to sepsis and brought her near death. Once again, everyone's fervent prayers appeared to help lead to Grace's recovery. But when she was set for release, an undetected blood clot in her leg broke loose and made its way to her brain. The resulting stroke left her brain-dead until, several agonizing days later, the rest of her body's organs also failed. Prayers could do nothing. It was at that point that I decided that if God existed, He was malicious. At best human suffering meant nothing to Him. It took me years, but looking back, I finally realized it was futile to be angry at someone who didn't exist.”

“I'm sorry. It must still hurt,” Trish said.

“It was long ago. A different time and place,” Dan said. But some things would never make sense, could never be made right.

“It's only been a few days, but so many things are challenging us. Why is it that so many people think they can be happy, believe that their own version of morality is objectively right? How can most of what people believe is right be the same, unless it is somehow true? Or do you believe God is an illusion that we just can't shake and common beliefs are coincidental or are shaped by the same society?” Trish asked.

“Either that, or God exists and we possess the nature He gave us, whether we acknowledge its existence and origin or not.”

“Then perhaps our firm sense of morality is a form of evidence of God's existence.”

“Many philosophers have said so. And since we call the few people who live truly as though objective morality is an illusion, we must think morality isn't a changeable, made-up thing. Though we sometimes think we get to define what moral standards apply to us, we're always quite certain when we've been wronged and that's another indication we think at least part of morality is objectively, universally, real.”

“You have a knack for getting into this type of discussion,” Trish said.

“Simply trying to find a path forward, one that leads somewhere worth getting.”

“You would think you might have some answers by now.”

“I started looking late but think I'm getting there,” Dan said, turning to glance at Trish then quickly back to the road.

With nothing more to say, they drove on in silence as each reflected on what lay ahead.

The sun was low in the sky, and they were on a stretch of the road close to the coast. Orange light danced off the ocean waves.

Looking over at an alert Trish, Dan thought of the remaining drive. “Though it's only early evening here, we're still on East Coast time, and it would be a good idea for you to rest. We'll need to take turns sleeping and driving. ”

“You've been driving awhile. You could rest first.”