"Or disprove it," Reilly shot back. "But then you're not really considering both sides of the equation, are you?"
"Well, if the Vatican was so terrified of the Templars' discovery coming out into the open," Vance scoffed, "I think I can guess which way its thinking leans. And if we could only finish what the Templars set out to do," he turned to Tess, beaming with an alarmingly infectious fervor, "it would be the final step in something that's been brewing since the Enlightenment. It wasn't that long ago that people believed that die earth was the center of the universe and the sun revolved around us.
When Galileo came along and proved that it was the other way around, the Church almost had him burned at the stake. The same thing happened with Darwin. Think about it. Whose word is the 'gospel' truth today?"
Reilly fell quiet as he weighed the information. It bothered him that everything he had heard, no matter how hard he tried to dismiss it, seemed not just possible, but uncomfortably plausible. After all, there were several major religions vying for adherents all around the planet, all claiming to be the real thing, and they couldn't all be right. He guiltily recognized that he was so ready to dismiss other religions as mass delusions . . . why should the one he happened to believe in be any different?
"One by one," Vance announced, his eyes locking onto Tess, "these falsehoods, these inventions of the early founders of the Church, they're all crumbling. This would be the final one to fall, nothing more."
Chapter 69
Reilly sat alone, perched on a craggy rock face overlooking the clearing where the pickup was parked. He'd watched the sky gradually darken, unveiling countless stars and a moon that was bigger and brighter than any he'd ever seen. The sight was enough to stir the soul of even the most cynical observer, but right now Reilly wasn't in the most inspired of moods.
Vance's words still rang loudly in his ears. The supernatural elements of the story at the heart of his faith had always sat uncomfortably with his rational, questioning mind, but he hadn't ever really felt the need to subject them to such scrutiny. Vance's disturbing, and, much as he hated to admit it, convincing arguments had opened a can of worms that would be difficult to close.
The truck was barely visible now, Vance's shadowy form beside it where he'd left him. Reilly couldn't stop running the man's tirade through his mind, looking for the crack that would cause the whole sordid edifice to crumble, but he couldn't find one. Nothing about it was counterintuitive. If anything, it made too much sense.
A scattering of pebbles behind him snapped him out of his reverie. He turned to see Tess clambering up the ridge to join him.
"Hey," she said. The full beam that had entranced him was gone, replaced by a troubled expression.
He gave her a small nod. "Hey."
She stood at the edge of the hill, taking in the stillness around them for a few moments before settling down on the rock beside him. "Look, I'm . . . I'm sorry. I know these discussions can get pretty uncomfortable."
Reilly shrugged. "If anything, it's disappointing."
She looked at him uncertainly.
"I mean, you really don't get it," he continued. "You're taking something that's unique, something that's incredibly special, and reducing it to its crudest form."
"You want me to ignore the evidence?"
"No, but seeing them in that light, poring over every detail, makes you miss the whole point. The thing you don't understand is that it's not about scientific evidence. It shouldn't be. It's not about facts or about analyzing and rationalizing. It's about feeling. It's an inspiration, a way of life, a connection—" he opened his arms expansively, "—to all this." He looked at her intently for a moment, then asked, "Isn't there anything you believe in?"
"What I believe in doesn't matter."
"It does to me," he insisted sharply. "Seriously, I'd like to know. Don't you believe in any of it?"
She glanced away, looking down at Vance who, despite the impenetrable darkness, seemed to have his eyes settled on them both. "I guess the easy answer is that I'm in Jefferson's camp on this."
"Jefferson?"
Tess nodded. "Thomas Jefferson also had problems believing what was in the Bible. Although he considered Jesus's ethical system to be the finest the world had ever seen, he became convinced that in trying to make His teachings more appealing to the pagans, His words and His story had been manipulated. So he decided to take a closer look at the Bible, and stripped out everything he considered untrue, in an attempt to dig out Jesus's true words from, as he put it, 'the rubbish in which it is buried.' The man in the book he came up with, The Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth, wasn't anything like the divine being in the New Testament: in Jefferson's Bible, there was no virgin birth, no miracles, and no resurrection. Just a man."
She looked into Reilly's eyes, searching for common ground. "Don't get me wrong, Sean. I believe that Jesus was a great man, one of die most important people who ever lived, an inspirational human being who said a lot of great things. I think His vision of a selfless society where everybody trusts and helps one another is a wonderful one. He inspired a lot of good . . . He still does. Even Gandhi, who wasn't a Christian, always said he was acting in the spirit of Jesus Christ. I mean, clearly, Jesus was an exceptional man, no question—but then, so were Socrates and Confucius. And I agree with you that His teachings about love and fellowship should be the basis of human relations—we should be so lucky. But was He divine? Maybe you could say He had some kind of divine vision or prophetic illumination, but I don't buy the miraculous stuff and I definitely don't buy the control freaks who pretend they're God's exclusive representatives on earth. I'm pretty sure Jesus didn't intend His revolution to become what it is today, and I can't imagine He would have liked His teachings to become the dogmatic and oppressive faith that grew up in His name. I mean, He was a freedom fighter who despised authority. How ironic is that?"
"The world's a big place," Reilly replied. "The Church today is what men have made it over the centuries. It's an organization, because it has to be to make it work. And organizations need a power structure—how else could its message survive and spread?"
"But look at how ridiculous it's become," she countered. "Have you ever watched one of those TV
evangelists? It's become a Vegas act, a parade of brainwashing jokers. They'll guarantee you a place in heaven in exchange for a check. How sad is that? Church attendance numbers are way down, people are turning to all kinds of alternatives, from yoga to Kabbalah to all kinds of New Age books and groups for some kind of spiritual uplift, simply because the Church is so out of touch with modern life, with what people really need today—"
"Of course it is," Reilly interjected as he stood up, "but that's because we're moving too fast. It was very relevant for almost two thousand years. It's only in the last few decades that that's changed, at a time when we've been evolving at a staggering pace, and yes, the Church hasn't kept pace and it's a big problem. But it doesn't mean we should dump die whole tiling and move on to . . . what exactly?"
Tess screwed up her face. "I don't know. But maybe we don't need a heavenly bribe or the fear of hell and damnation to make us behave decently. Maybe it would be healthier if people started believing in themselves instead."
"Do you really think so?"
She stared into his eyes. They were earnest, but calm. "I do. And I also know I'd much rather have my daughter grow up in a world where people aren't deceived by some historical hoax, where they're free to believe in whatever they choose to believe in, based on fact, not on myth." She looked away and shrugged. "It doesn't matter anyway. Not until we find the wreck and see what's in that box."