'It's fine to assert that, but lots of people-lots of intelligent, sane people-believe in God. What sort of proof can you provide that God doesn't exist?'
He grinned and took a deep, satisfied breath. I had the uncomfortable feeling of talking myself right where he wanted me to.
'You can't demand proof of the nonexistence of something. It's logically impossible. The burden of proof is on those who assert that God exists.'
'Why?'
'For the same reason that-up until a few years ago-an accused man didn't have to prove his innocence in court. Suppose you told me that there had been a murder. You demand that I prove I didn't do it. I ask you who was killed-how, when, where. You refuse to tell me and repeat that I must prove I didn't do it. How can I logically prove the nonexistence of something for which there is no evidence? The burden of proof must always be on the prosecution-on the one who asserts that something exists, whether it be a crime or a god. Only when I'm confronted with evidence purporting to prove that God exists can I do anything. Then it would involve demonstrating that the evidence is in error.'
'Which,' I said, 'wouldn't prove the nonexistence of God, only the inadequacy of the evidence.'
'Exactly.' Golding peered at me. 'Have you a philosophical background?'
'No. I've given extensive consideration, though, to what constitutes proof in, um... judicial situations.'
'So why the interest in God?'
'My client wishes to lodge a complaint about the Big Bang.' I wanted some sort of an answer from him. 'Maybe you can begin by giving me a few definitions-'
'No,' he said. 'Begin
You define God.'
'I can't.'
'Come now.' He used both his hands to brush back his hair. 'Any God will do. Greek, Christian, Moslem, Hindu, Hebrew, African...'
'The only thing I've found,' I began, stuffing my hands in my pockets and leaning back in the chair, 'that is common to all the accounts I've read is that God is unknowable to varying degrees. That makes my search a bit difficult.'
He peaked his fingers together like Basil Rathbone contemplating a crime. 'Epistemological transcendence. Yes. Claiming to know that something cannot be known, ever. Claiming to possess the omniscience to know that something will never be known. Contradiction and conceit-the traits of a successful theologian. In my book, anyone stating that God is incomprehensible is merely confessing the specious nature of his own arguments.'
Footsteps approached from the bedroom before I could respond, saving me from having to think of a snappy rejoinder.
A short, slender woman appeared, wrapped only in a large burgundy-hued bath towel. She gave Ann and me a quick glance with large, dark eyes. Her throat made pardon-me noises.
'Ted?' she said in a gentle voice.
'Raissa! Come in and meet Ann and Dell.'
She entered the room with a fluid motion of her bare legs. From the silver-streaked raven hair that hung down to the nape of her neck, I guessed her to be somewhere in her early forties. That body told some fine lies, though. Her arms, legs, face, and hands displayed enough youth in them to say what needed to be said about the parts of her hidden beneath the towel.
Raissa smiled warmly at the two of us and maneuvered her way past to reach the study. A word processor whirred and clacked into life. Soft tapping of fingers against keys drifted into the living room.
Golding smiled.
'The greatest joy in my life and my highest value.' From where he sat, he had a vantage on the study that we didn't. He watched her for a moment. 'She gives great perceptual reaffirmation of my self-concept.'
He shifted his attention back to me. '
